Shattered Prince
by Lady Yami Bakura
Summary: In a twist of ironic fate, Bakura finds his little light has been torn away from him. Devastated and heart-broken, he consoles himself that death has brought his light peace but something is wrong... very wrong...Rated for violence, content&Yaoi. RxB
1. Denial

Well, miss dark and broody strikes again... oh wait... strikes for the first time I should say considering this is the first dark fic that I've done. It is multi-chaptered, this is the first of I think 6. I'm not sure, but I know that it's all been written and just has to be typed. If this fic freaks you out a bit, then be assured that's what I'm intending to make it do.  
  
Yami B: Okay, this fic is just plain disturbing...  
  
LYB: Oh come on! I was inspired again!  
  
Yami B: By re-watching fucking Mulhulin Drive!!!  
  
LYB: hehehe yeah David Lynch is awesome but no, this wasn't Mulhulin Drive inspired... ^_____^ though I'm glad you think so!!  
  
Yami B: You're a very scary person...  
  
Ryou: So what did inspire you?  
  
LYB: I have no idea...  
  
Yami B: That makes her even freakier.  
  
LYB: -_- u... go to hell...  
  
Tarriq: I don't know why I'm even going to do disclaimers but really, this is a fan fiction sight and that explains itself. But, LYB doesn't own Yu-Gi-Oh or a psychology degree...   
  
Yami B: She's just a broke university student with free time on her hands.  
  
LYB: _ HEY!! Is this bash the author day or what???  
  
Yami B: You put me through hell writing this, I'm just returning the favor.  
  
@~8~ @~8~ ~8~@ ~8~@  
  
Shattered Prince  
  
@~8~ @~8~ ~8~@ ~8~@  
  
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Denial  
  
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There was utter stillness as he entered the square room. Not the kind of stillness one appreciates. It hung stagnant in the air like a disease. Hovering so close you could feel it pressing your skin, weighing you down, trapping you beneath it and he felt his stomach turn before a type of sick consolation formed amid the thick silence...   
  
He knew places like this....  
  
Temples and tombs that once glowed glory in his own time.   
  
A house for the dead.   
  
A home for a king.  
  
A prison made to keep those dead in - and those alive out- eternally.  
  
Yes he knew this place. It was made for him, for the one he held. Walls of sandy stone carved with hieroglyphs told the story of the boy's life. White torches lit the wide room, beating radiant circles and shadows across the carved walls and stone floor. The ceiling arched, the inside of a great sphere dropping down into smooth walls. A small channel cut up through the ceiling, letting in a shaft of pale waning light that cast itself upon the stone sarcophagus in the rooms center. It lay open, it had no lid, he couldn't bare it to have a lid. After all beauty couldn't be covered. The one massive stone doorway the only entrance and exit. Heavy and cut tight to the wall... once it was closed there would be no way to open it.   
  
It lay open a tiny crack now, wide enough to allow him to walk in without harming the charge in his arms. No, no harm would come to the one he held, never. He raised his eyes slightly, looking distantly at the sarcophagus, dust hung in the air, moving slowly in and out of the soul shaft of light. Yes... a perfect resting place... a perfect cage. The walls closed in on him, secretly moving closer, their tight proximity threatening to suffocate him with hot air long gone stale.  
  
Bakura swallowed.   
  
There was nothing to fear here in this place of peace.  
  
Nothing but the threat that once he left he would never be whole again.  
  
A red rough robe cut over his shoulders, reveling his chest and the wrap about his waist. Something told him a scar ran across his eye down his cheek. This room would befit a pharaoh resting place. He was worth a place such as this, the boy in his arms. Bakura looked down. The boy slept soundly, face and body covered by a white cloth.   
  
He knelt down, half setting him on the floor and drew a breath, slowly pulling the cloth away from his the one in his arms. Even in death, he was breath taking. Bakura ran tanned fingers over the pale cheeks. There was no response, the head fell back limply, a rag doll made of cold, pale, alabaster. Bakura trailed his fingertips across the boy's lips, they were pale, the color of the skin they were set in. Frozen in time.   
  
Bakura stood once more, cradling the boy to his chest, admiring him. Simply dressed, only a white linen desert wrap about his waist, falling to his knees and fastened with gold. The boy's white hair fell back, shining in the dim light. Bakura couldn't bare to cover that beautiful hair so instead a circlet of gold wrapped about his crown, resembling a snake set about his head. A queen's headdress he knew but he wanted Anubis to see the boy's hair.   
  
He marveled briefly at the boy's bare skin... letting his eyes fall on the small wound just a little off the center of his chest. It was clean and neat. No blood flowed from cold bodies and it almost appeared that there was never any blood on the body at all. Even the bruised knee seemed paled into the skin as if it wasn't there at all. Beautiful, an Egyptian prince frozen in time.  
  
He moved forward slowly, stepping into the circle of light, looking down into the stone case. Inside was the wooden box, framed and lined with gold. Bedded with delicate silk over the softest bed of down. A bed for a prince.   
  
A bed for eternity.  
  
He gently laid the boy down in the bed, arranging him neatly with the upmost care as if he were made of porcelain or glass and would break if he were moved the wrong way. He carefully laid him out, arranging his arms and legs so he was relaxed, delicately laying back the boy's head so he would be comfortable, even if he could feel nothing.  
  
Bakura drew a hard breath, the very need to breath choked him. The stagnant air in his lungs making him feel like his chest was caving in. A thin layer of sweat had formed on his body... another thing to entrap him and the way the very heat of the way it made his tattered robe cling to him made him tremble. He idly wished he could be still like the boy in the eternal bed...   
  
Not a tinge of sweat. Not a tinge of blood.  
  
Not a tinge of imperfection.  
  
Bakura smoothed the long white hair around the boy's face, letting his fingers linger on the soft skin that only remained warm from the hot air of the enclosure. "Ryou..." Bakura murmured, sounding like a loud voice against the silence but it was barely a whisper and dragged his fingers gently down the porcelain dolls chest. He wanted the skin to feel flushed... he wanted it to tremble under his touch. As long as he could feel a reaction...   
  
That was all he had ever wanted... to feel him move under his touch.   
  
Quiver, tremble, shudder,  
  
Flinch, cry,  
  
Scream,  
  
Break,  
  
Anything  
  
...just a reaction.   
  
He wanted to see his light felt... felt anything. If not love, he needed to know the boy felt something for him.  
  
Kinship, hate,  
  
Fear,  
  
So be it.  
  
At least it was real.  
  
This couldn't be real. His angel, his prince, forever immortal never to change or grow or breath.  
  
His fingers brushed the small wound only about the size of a dime, he could see the depth of the tiny thing and cringed as crimson blood leaked up around his fingers. Bakura quickly pulled away, teeth clenched. Murder, the voice chided in his head murder, murder, hot blooded murder. But once more there was stillness, heart-crushing, heavy winged stillness. The blood was gone.   
  
An emptiness filled him... the medallion on his neck had gone cold. Words from the past chided him from the past "My hosts life is the most important." They were cold at the time, now they resounded, haunting, teasing. Fuck the world.   
  
He raised his hands, removing the gold trinket from his neck. It's tear drop points tinkling softly in the quiet. Gently he raised the boy's head... draping it over his neck. He rested the gold medallion on the boy's bare chest. It looked right there, the wadjet eye blinking in the ever fading light. It only looked right with him. Carefully Bakura moved the piece slightly so the ring covered the tiny wound and with that... the boy really was perfect. He lay uninjured,   
  
Empowered,   
  
Timeless,   
  
Sleeping as only one so angelically regal could sleep.   
  
Once more Bakura carefully arranged the boy's hair. With the love of a sheltering guardian he fixed the crown upon the boy's head. The ruby eyes of the cobra goddess stared blankly at nothing. Golden perfection. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the sleeping angels but they didn't respond. Once more disheartened he looked away and picked up the white silk shroud from the floor. He lay it over the boy, flicking it out and allowing it to settle over the lifeless statue, hesitating briefly to look at the face he adored.   
  
He wanted one more breath, a word,   
  
a scream,  
  
Anything but nothing came forth as if just to spite him and he fought the urge to strike the pretty face for pure insolence, maybe he would scream then. He always did. But he knew this time there would be no tears. He dropped the shroud over the boys face, letting it take on the shape of the carved statue beneath. Once more, maybe out of habit, he leaned over, letting his lips linger on the boy's, lips grazing the thin silk. But when he allowed himself to rise, a small prick on the silk caught his eye.  
  
He could see the outline of the ring on the boys chest, it's tear drop points appearing as little ridges. A small red spot was forming just underneath it's edge. Staining the silk. Moving... murderously slow... a thin pinprick trail leaking it's way down the cover over the boy's side.  
  
Bakura shook his head a sighed, then with last ditch effort managed to drag the coffin top of wood and gold into place, locking it down, sealing the boy in to sleep his sleep of death. The golden face emblazoned on the lid looked up at him dumbly as if questioning why the outer stone casing did have a lid to protect it as well. How does one explain the logic? He wanted the god's to see this boy's beauty as he lay there.   
  
He took another choking breath, backing away slowly to the door. Slipping outside, hoping to be free of the stale air but it remained. He choked again, he couldn't breath, his face felt damp and he didn't know why. He pulled at the huge stone door, slowly it moved, laboriously falling into place with a loud, ragged rumble, the stone would never budge again. Only he knew how to open it from the outside and he had no intentions of disturbing this tomb... no one could budge it from the inside. He leaned his forehead against the stone, feeling dizzy, each breath coming as a pitiful, choking sob until finally he forced himself to suck in the air that seemed to crush him. He'd made this place to make sure no one would dare harm the body within. "Good night, sweet prince" he murmured.  
  
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End of chapter one, but not the story. Stay tuned for chapter two when things really get strange: Anger.   
  
Yami B: You know you could end it right there...  
  
LYB: As a tear jerker? Yeah, but I'm not that nice. Besides, did you read the plot summery?  
  
Yami B: *reads... then blinks* okay... should I be afraid?  
  
LYB: Well think about it. I left a lot unanswered questions... like Ryou's odd injuries, the strange fact that somehow your in Egypt, the bleeding thing...  
  
Yami B: I get the point...  
  
LYB: The open casket...  
  
Yami B: I SAID I GET THE POINT!!!  
  
LYB: anywho ^_^ R&R!! 


	2. Anger

Okay this chapter is MUCH longer then the first chapter and trust me, not as sweet. I scared myself typing this up to the point I had to stop and come back to it in the morning. It starts to get really tripy and really dark very fast but please PLEASE don't get horribly revolted and leave it because by the end you should have a good idea of what's going on, if not be please patient. This chapter would probably appeal to someone into really dark fics. *Shudders* Hope you like it. 

  
  


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Anger

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Bakura sat at the oasis. 

  


A home...

  


A haven...

  


The only place he felt safe.

  


The moon hadn't risen yet, it must have been around 2 am... but the moon hadn't yet risen. He sighed, tossing a rock into the water.

  


7 days, 10 hours - since he closed the door.

  


7 days, 10 hours - since he left the valley. 

  


7 days, 10 hours - since he set Ryou in the tomb.

  


The wind moved placidly in the tree, reflecting the stillness that seemed to make a content home in his soul. As if there was something it didn't want to accept yet so it lingered, but the soft sound wasn't loud enough to drown out the secret undertone that something important had been forgotten. He felt cold all over, making the soft breeze feel like fire on his skin. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly matching it to his heartbeat that seemed to echo softly inside him with unwillingly accepted emptiness when he drifted into himself. No, not yet... he couldn't accept it yet, anything but admit that gentle resounding hollowness. This place was a place of the heart and the heart alone, it had once been something real he was sure but for now it was a peaceful refuge for his tired mind. 

  


The wind gave a sigh and he briefly heard a voice whisper; he blinked and it was gone. He looked pasted the greenery across the desert. He was sure he had heard it from somewhere out there. 

  


A voice... angry, haunting - beckoning.

  


He shook his head. Sometimes of late, his mind played tricks on him. Sometimes he caught himself talking to Ryou - though he wasn't there... there it was again. Just a whisper. Faint and dying.

  


7 days, 11 hours - he thought he was going mad. 

  


Something nagged him.

  


7 days, 11 hours - he didn't even know how he knew it had been that long. It was surreal, like the time had never been there, just dreams he had woken up to have forgotten...but it dragged on and on... outward and endless. 

  


Time was out of joint.

  


The whisper came again, grazing his skin like haunting claws, sending delicious chills down his spine. The voice said nothing but it was there... then it was gone... like the sound of someone breathing near by but you can only tell by the soft movement of air on your cheek. The sound of pain when it rings in your ears but you don't scream out. It called him.

  


Bakura raised his eyes again. No, he didn't believe in such things. Haunting voices, drifting lights, horrible phantasms- the kind nightmares are made on. They didn't exist. Pain existed, that was real, maybe the only thing that was real. He could feel pain, he could feel suffering. Those things were real.

  


And yet... he found himself back there again. Lonely and aching.

  


7 days, 12 hours.

  


He felt his eyes burn looking upon the stone door. A perfect misery searing into his heart. One look, just one look to ease his pain. Just one glance to see the gold coffin and know the peace in death. Know he really was once alive and vivid. He laid his hands on the door, rough sandy stone rubbing powdery under his touch. It came again, louder then before, a whisper, hissing in his ear and he drew back. It stopped.

  


Bakura growled in his throat feeling foolish. He feared no spirit. He rammed his hands into the door, palms flat, moving it as if to push it open the wrong way in its channel, ignoring the wordless voice that screamed at him in its breathless tone. The door groaned resigning its hidden code and Bakura pushed it open, moving its weight with slow persistence. He let go. The voice stopped. 

  


Stillness.

  


The door had barely opened a large enough crack to allow him to slip through but he stood in the tomb. A shiver passed through him, something was moving. He felt air softly brush his skin, but nothing was there. It was far to dark to see. Candles had burned out days ago and the only thing visible was inky blackness and a thin trail of light from the doorway that only showed an inch wide strip on the floor and dust hovering dumbly in the air. The moon was still rising and partly clouded so no blessed rays came down from the window. Just silence, blackness. The type of silence that tells you something is horribly wrong... so wrong even the air didn't move. Total stillness.

  


He shifted slightly, the sound of his feet on the rough stone floor grated painfully back to him in the echo of the cavernous tomb. His noise twitch slightly, there was a sour smell on the air. It hung thick and heavy like a demon hovering close with dark outstretched wings and without even the faintest breath of movement it clung to every fiber of his being. He ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth... he could even taste it. 

  


Blood. 

  


Lingering, decaying blood.

  


There should be no blood here, but he could smell it plain as he could see the thin bright shaft on the floor. He narrowed his sharp brown eyes. He normally had impeccable night vision, but he couldn't even see a dim outline of a shape. 

  


A sound cut through the dark, a creak, then a groan of stone on stone making Bakura spin about, faced twisted in fear as the thin line of light grew thinner. He gave a cry, darting for the door but he had already been plunged into complete black and the door gave it resigned snap showing it had been locked in place. He fell upon it, screaming every plea, cry and curse he knew of, pounding his fists against the unyielding stone. He knew it wouldn't open. The door couldn't be opened from the inside. Only he could open it from the outside. Sealed in, alone, in the dark...

  


No... he paused... not yet. Not the master tomb robber. He designed this place- he knew its one flaw. The window in the ceiling. It was small and he would not be able to get through the bars in place to stop would be thieves but he knew after a day or two or persistence from the inside, he could break one out and get through. But it was high up... he would have to scale the wall and hack at it bit by bit. He knew he'd left a set of daggers in here somewhere they would be ideal for climbing and carving, he had left them as part of the final resting gifts. He wouldn't allow his hikari to go into the underworld unprotected, even though he knew his hikari would never use them, he didn't like to fight back. That was half his problem, his hikari never fought back.

  


Bakura gave a whimper. So close and so far. He couldn't see it but he knew the beautiful creature lay untouchable only a few feet a way. A bitter loneliness choked him again and he gagged, feeling he would be stomach sick. The smell was God awful! Sour and salty and the hot burdensome air only served to sear it into every part of his body. Once more he felt a fine layer of sweat tinge his skin. It was to damn hot. He would be glad when the moon came up and he could see the room. It's soothing murals and the polished gold coffin. The golden trimmed candle holders and precious trinkets.

  


He tried to breathe again with this new refreshed outlook. A tomb was just that - a tomb. He knew exactly what was here and where it was. His hikari was here. 

His lovely, patient 

  


Caring

  


Unmoving

  


Demised hikari.

  


Breathing came easier and he rested his forehead to the door... waiting for the light. Something wet on the stone brushed his skin and he gave a puzzled murmur, stepping back. Blindness hindered him so he brought his hands up to the door to examine to examine it curiously, expecting flat warm stone. He furrowed his brow in confusion. The stone was no longer smooth. It chipped under his fingers, crumbling the slightest bit from cracked blows and shallow long gouges. The gouges were what were damp. How did they get wet? How did they even get there? They weren't there before. No... he trembled, no; no one could have been in here. No one was here beside Ryou. "Ryou..." he said thoughtfully... rubbing his fingers together. The liquid was sticky. It clung with seeming permanence to his to his fingers and hands. 

  


The moon had started to show itself, but only in foggy images and vague outlines. He gave a small noise, looking at his hands, finding them dark with a clinging stain he could only hope to be free of. Blood...

  


Wet...

  


New...

  


All over his hands...

  


Confusion swept him in a solid rush. Fresh blood, the sickening smell, where did blood come from? His eyes traveled to the door and he gritted his teeth in disbelief as moonlight started to show him what his eyes refused to see. He put his hands to the door again as if to disprove what was being reveled. Claw marks, shallow, frantic slashes smeared with red. Someone had tried vainly to escape.

  


His breath came deeper, sucking it in between his teeth, the taste of blood assaulting his tongue. No he couldn't believe it... there was no way...

  


7 days, 13 hours... it was to long. He would have known it, felt it.

  


He slowly turned about, someone had been here. He looked upon the room with dismay as the cold glow crept across it like unholy demon light. He felt himself go cold. With the light the room's temperature seemed to drop, making the sweat that plastered to his clothes to his body chill him like ice. He felt as though cold fingers wrapped about him making him tremble. The candelabra had all but been ruined, used to smash out all the beautiful carvings on the wall. Ruined... Beaten out... Clawed in rage, blood smeared everywhere like sadistic paint. All the statues and boxes had been smashed and all lay hauntingly still in the eerie light. Cold and lifeless like the body that lay in the stone case.

  


The case, he let his eyes travel across the room and took a step forward only to pause when his feet brushed against something soft on the floor. He lowered his gaze abruptly, surprised by the feeling and kicked the item finding it soft and yielding, white and red. Bakura leaned down and picked it up, crushing the gentle fabric between his fingers, the silk folding charmingly as he tried to untangle it. The tight, careful weave was familiar. The burial shroud. But so torn! Ripped and frayed, stained with crimson blood both old and new.

  


How did the shroud sealed in with the prince make its way out here? How was this possible? Who would dare desecrate a grave so innocent and pure?

  


Bakura clutched the fabric to his chest, the cold material feeling like stinging shards of ice on his skin. He savored it, fear. Blood coursed through him in pounding gushes, heart pounding in his chest and up into his throat. It had been so long since he had been truly afraid.

  


A tomb.

  


No way in. No way out.

  


A home for the dead.

  


Only one person save himself had been in here and that person lay in the golden bed. Bakura blinked looking up, the sarcophagus. He swallowed, clutching the material tightly. His heart resounded in his ears as he looking at the stone casing. There was no gold glinting in the faint light. He sucked in his breath. The lid of the thick wooden case was shattered; he could see its splintered remains in the sickly light. What of Ryou?

  


Fear seized him, finalizing its unyielding hold on his body. He could remember leaving many tombs ruined but to destroy a body and strip its soul of the afterlife? His heart raced... was this punishment for all the souls he had robbed of eternity? His own lights immortal soul had been ruined? All he had to hope for in the end was that somehow, someway, Ryou could live on, if that was ruined... what did he have to live for? If there wasn't even a chance somehow his soul could still go on– could still be somewhere– he had nothing without that hope to live on. Ryou's soul had gone on because his body was intact. 

  


He growled in his throat mentally screaming at himself for being so foolish and he threw down the shroud, marching for the stone bed, seizing its rim firmly in his hands, the stone rough under his fingers. 

  


He gave a horrified cry.

  


Everything was broken, the wood mangled and gold scattered. The silk lining torn and tossed. Blood haphazardly stained the inside. There was no sleeping prince. Bakura stifled another cry, tearing down through the remaining rubble, but there was nothing...

  


"How did this happen?!" he screamed wildly "It isn't possible!!" he grabbed hold of a wooden piece and turned it over... he gave a choked cry like a desperate plea and it fell from his grasp landing with a clatter on the floor once more showing him it's undeniable story that once noticed held true for all it's sister splints. The inside was ripe with scratches. Clawed marks marred most of the wood. . "No..." he murmured, "No, it can't be..." He'd only seen it once before... normally they mummified bodies but one tomb he'd been in they didn't. No, the coffin had been broken, claw marks lined the wood, and the man lay decomposing in the tombs corner by the door. Buried alive.

  


No!

  


It wasn't right!

  


He'd seen the blood! The empty eyes that stared and stared! The cold skin broke no sweat, burn or blister! He'd seen how the crumpled boy had laid broken and bloody, he was there, he heard the scream in his head, he'd seen the boy fall to the ground and not get up. He'd SEEN it. There was no way he was still here. But the coffins shattered parts blinked an ironic truth _the prince was not there._

  


Bakura's mind raced, buried alive. He choked on his own breath. He'd sealed the boy alive...

  


7 days, 14 hours...

  


How long could a person live without food? Without water? His body ran cold. A tomb with no way out unless you knew the windows secret and had the agility to climb the smooth curved walls. He knew the boy lacked the agility and he refused to use knives. So...

  


Where was the body?

  


He felt air stir by him again, someone was in here. Cool silk brushed against his face, terror made every bone in his body shudder and snap, feeding him a delicious new thing to savor. What it was like to be afraid. His vision was marred by the white silk that had come across his face and he felt himself jerked back harshly.

  


"Murder," the voice whispered. Only he knew it wasn't the wind. Angry, haunting, beckoning from this very place, "Murder, murder, hot blooded murder..."

  


The shroud was jerked away and Bakura fell to him knees. "Ryou? Oh Ra, Ryou!" He quickly flicked his eyes around, he saw no one before him. Then he saw the sharp flutter of white out of the corner of his eye and he knew it was the shroud falling to the floor. His heart raced feeling tattered fingers wrap around his neck like the stiff cold chipped stone of a statue. 

  


No, it wasn't possible.

7 days, 14 hours– how could he move! 

  


This wasn't real!

  


His mind was playing a sick game with his conscience. No, nothing would be there and he quickly pulled from the icy grip and spun looking straight into scarlet bloodshot eyes. Maybe they had once been brown. It was certain they probably were, or once had been but they were ringed with red, irritated and sore. He knew their sharp so well, he knew the eyes. Stunning chocolate mixed with violent red eyes furrowed in rage, sunken into chalk white, bruised skin caked with dust and dirt. Thin red lines marked the cracks on the corners of pale chapped lips that pursed together as if to mock him. Streaked lined of dirt and scratches making it look like the precious porcelain doll had finally started to crack. The blood reddened eyes leered out from under stringy white hair falling over his face. Dust and wood chips clinging to it, telling of the boys brutal escape from his casket prison. About his head the cobra goddess' red eyes laughed telling him indeed this boy was living death. A twisted smile crossed the boys face, a sick mirror reflection of the creature that once was now spoke of some demonic hideous phantasm, the kind nightmares were made on.

  


Fingers reached out for him and Bakura cried out, shuffling backwards on the floor. Skin had been pealed from the tips and knuckles showing shredded flesh and in places the fine cream colored bone. The linen about his waist was shredded. Indeed was most of his skin. Carved and scratched from rough stone and wood. Half swollen and festered from days untreated. Marks of his attempted escape.

  


Buried alive!

  


Oh Ra what had he done?!

  


It couldn't be! There was no way! He'd seen him bleed and bled. The unholy prince laughed sounding sick and cruel. "Hello Yami. Did you miss me?"

  


"What is this sorcery?" Bakura whispered, looking up at the thing that stood before him, alive? Dead? His own sick imagination? He shouldn't have come here!

  


"Sorcery?" the boy repeated, looking mockingly perplexed, "Sorcery?" he cried out louder, eyes flashed rage and his voice tore back on the echo of the room, "You left me for dead!"

  


"No..." Bakura murmured, shaking his head in disbelief "No!" he cried, a desperate mournful sound, "I watched you! I held you!"

  


Ryou wailed making it seem as it the very walls of stone shook, torn and bloody hands coming up to cover his face "I slept! I only slept! Didn't you hear me scream?" Ryou dropped his hands, face twisted in rage, something totally beyond Bakura, Ryou was never angry. He marched forward, grabbing Bakura by the collar. "Didn't you hear me you son of a bitch?!" Bakura looked at the boy in pure shock, his demeanor, his appearance, everything so unlike him.

"Didn't you want to hear me scream?" Ryou hissed, "Didn't you want to feel me move. You have you chance you sadistic beaten dog. Why won't you touch me now? Hmm?" All Bakura could do was stair at him in disbelief making Ryou's lips twist into a snarl, tightening his grip. "Are you afraid of me? Is the darkness afraid of the light?" Ryou laughed suddenly, dropping Bakura and bounding off with a displaced giddiness.

  


"Oh this is so damn amusing!" he laughed, looking demented as he feigned humor, disheveled hair falling over tarnished skin. "He's afraid of me! Afraid of the dead! Afraid of the one he used to terrify!" White hair fell in knotted strings over red singed eyes as Ryou turned his head looking freakishly evil as he leered at the tomb robber.

  


"I fear nothing." Bakura hissed, getting to his feet slowly to avoid direct confrontation.

  


"Do you want to know what happened?" Ryou said, as if completely oblivious to Bakura's actions. The boy's face seemed to fall, looking blank with sorrow and fear. Looking more like the Ryou Bakura remembered– breaking his heart. "I slept, oh Ra how I slept! The world moved by but I was so tired, so tired... then I opened my eyes. I felt metal on my chest and I wanted to move but I was too tired. Then I felt cool cloth and heard a creak and I slept on, happy to be left alone. Then I wanted to leave, I wanted the sun, the moon, the stars! But I opened my eyes and there was only white cloth. I tired to sit and smacked my head." Terrified eyes traveled over the ruined coffin. "And I screamed and pounded and screamed and no one came. I called for you and no one answered, you left me here to die– to scream– to suffer, suffer...

  


Suffer..."

  


He trailed off; face downcast, looking distressed and Bakura reached out hesitantly toward him. Suddenly Ryou let out a horrifying scream making Bakura quickly withdraw as he Ryou ran for the stone door, falling against it, wailing like a banshee from a gross, twisted ghost story. He dug at the door, tearing into it with what little remained of his fingertips, awakening the blood, leaving streaks of red in his wake. "Ryou!" Bakura cried, running forward and grabbing the boy about the waist, hauling him away, cringing as the scrapes and cuts under his touch pulled and broke open, spilling new blood over his arms and the creature's clammy skin.

  


Ryou screamed again, struggling in Bakura's grip trying to claw at the door, his ruined fingers scattering blood on the floor and across Bakura's clothes. "Stop it!" he screamed at the boy "Stop it! You won't get out like that!"

  


Ryou seemed to go limp in his arm, "I got out like that..." he murmured softly, the ring about his neck making a soft jingle as he fell weakly into Bakura's grip. Bakura cringed feeling the leathery shredded skin on his, it didn't even feel alive. "I heard the wood snap as I pounded so I clawed and kicked and ripped until I saw light. Then I pulled and struggled only to crawl out into this... this... PRISON!" The rage came abruptly and Ryou jerked out of Bakura's arms, grabbing one of the bent candle holders like a bat and smashing it against the wall sending a wave of chipped rock and dust flying everywhere. 

  


Bakura gave a soft whimper. 

  


Buried alive.

  


He couldn't imagine the trauma and he came forward to stop him again.

  


He cried out as Ryou swung about briefly catching the wild bloodshot eyes before seeing a glint of gold and a flash of pain and he was struck harshly across the side of his head with the candle rod, knocking him to the ground. Bakura groaned lightly, pushing himself up slowly when another blow of cold metal came down across his head. "Bastard!!" Ryou screamed. "You lying, sardonic, acrid, sick, manipulating bastard!!" Another blow landed flat on his back and Bakura cried out as pain shot through him. "Couldn't be happy I died once, you had to make sure I died again! Is that it?! You wanted to make sure I wouldn't just sleep? Did you come to kill me a third time?!" Bakura gave another cry as the metal struck his face again, making him sprawl across the floor. "Couldn't you be happy you killed me once before you put me in this prison?"

  


Bakura groaned, slowly shaking his head. He could taste blood in his mouth from the brutal assault. "I didn't..." he muttered in a low voice.

  


"Bullshit you didn't!" the demon hissed, grabbing the fallen one by his neck and pulling him into a sitting position. Bakura shook his head, no, again. "No?" Ryou said mockingly and Bakura felt the boy let him go and he leaned heavily against the stone sarcophagus. 

  


He preyed. 

  


He'd never preyed before.

  


Moonlight gave a sickly color to the ruined boy as he stood before Bakura. Demon,

  


Demon, living death.

  


The boy turned about like a child's broken and scrapped porcelain doll, tattered and dirty beyond repair, showing himself off. His bruised knee and the two bruises hidden before upon his shoulder blade and back. "So these are my imagination?"

  


Bakura blinked, no he couldn't deny that. The bruise upon his shoulder held a small scratch and Bakura glanced at his own hand noting the ring that rested on his index finger. "No." Bakura said softly.

  


"You know how I died." Ryou hissed, turning on him once more, hair falling across his eyes, "You do, don't you?" Bakura gave a low sound in his throat as the cold shredded fingers wrapped about his throat, the loose skin making him shudder. The tarnished boy glared into his eyes. "Don't think of climbing for that window. I didn't make it and I won't allow you to leave. You'll stay with me."

  


"Ryou listen," Bakura said slowly "I can get us out of here, you have to let me climb..."

  


"Let you climb?" Ryou laughed, then his face fell into insane blankness "You'll run from me again, leave me all alone."

  


"No." Bakura whispered, trying to sound tender and loving, but Ryou only started to laugh sadistically again.

  


"You sealed me in here, I have no doubt you'll leave me in here. But now you'll stay with me to the end of time."

  


"What?" Bakura said, furrowing his brow in confusion.

  


"The dead belong in a tomb, Yami. If you're dead, you'll belong here with me."

  


Bakura blinked in confusion and amusement. "You wouldn't kill me. I could beat the life out of you." Even as he said the words he doubted there was any life left in the boy to beat out of him as his eyes skimmed over the self-inflicted wounds on the boys discolored skin. "You've never harmed a thing in your life."

  


"Well you sealed me in this prison so I must not be living any life anymore. And gee? Whose fault is that?"

  


The tomb robber growled, no he wouldn't give into this. "It's not mine." he said with a threatening edge and brought back his hand cracking the boy across the face. Both gave a cry, Ryou stumbled away and both of them brought a hand to their cheek.

  


"Fucking little prick." Ryou hissed, leaning over slightly. Bakura cursed in Egyptian, rubbing his sore jaw line. A gold glint from the ground told his the slap had knocked the golden cobra crown from Ryou's head and he watched as the boy pressed his lips to the back of his chalk shaded leather hand where the skin was still half intact and pulled away looking at the smear of blood. "Oh, I'll enjoy killing you." Ryou growled, turning his crimson stained eyes on Bakura, staring at him from their sunken bruised sockets. "I'll enjoy ever minute of it." Bakura could feel the swelling on his own lip.

  


"How is this?" he demanded. Ryou chuckled, dabbing his lips again.

  


"Hit me, I hit you back." Ryou picked up the snake from the floor and before Bakura could even see the movement Ryou struck out, the hard gold crook catching Bakura's temple, sending him fully to the floor again. Bakura groaned, his head reeled, to many direct hits had left his consciousness a drowning mess. His whole body refused to function as if there was a heavy weight pressed on his chest forbidding him to move. He had never been powerless in his life now it seemed some sort of demon magic had rendered him useless. 

  


He refused to be powerless, not to this creature that had once been his lovely light.

Bakura gave a soft moan, buried alive...

  


The trauma alone would be unbearable but to see the one who sealed you away?

  


"I'm sorry..." Bakura murmured, digging his fingers helplessly into the stone. He'd felt helpless before... when he saw the beautiful creature he loved laying in a crumpled heap... but now he felt afraid as well. An ironically brutal combination.

  


"I don't care if you're sorry." The boy spat, making Bakura cringe, "You were never sorry all those times you beat me around and screamed at me. Don't start now."

  


"How do you know that?!" Bakura countered, fighting the chocking feeling and the burning in his eyes the comment brought. It stung worst then every movement he slightly made. It felt as if a twenty ton weight was dragging him down but he managed to sit.

  


"Because I can remember going to bed sore and bruised and crying myself to sleep because you were never sorry." Ryou dropped in front of him again, "I remember crying because I loved you too much to ever it go but that doesn't matter now. When you're dead I don't have to worry anymore. I won't be here alone." Ryou chuckled slightly and Bakura bit back a terrified whimper as Ryou dragged his flesh and bone fingertips across Bakura's cheeks, he could feel the streaks of blood each torn digit left on his skin. Ryou gave a delighted laugh and pressed a finger to Bakura's forehead, moving it slowly, leaving the blood trail in its path, moving it as if to write something. "Yami." he announced the word proudly and Bakura trembled at the boy's sadistic choice of actions. Ryou grinned insanely. "Red looks good on you." He let his eyes travel down Bakura's bare chest. "I wonder if your heart will look as good."

  


"Ryou, you're not yourself." Bakura said softly, trying to keep the disturbed tone from his voice.

  


"Not myself?" Ryou crooned teasingly "_I'm nothing if not myself._ I'm only what you've made me and I've tired of being your little, shy, docile bitch and being constantly alone. Oh, I'll be delighted to see you bleed." Ryou leaned forward a bit, almost as if to kiss the terrified dark one. Bakura's blood raced in his ears, there was no way this could be real, but he could feel the ruined skin and the chapped lips, his stomach turned violently with the smell of dead blood from the boy's torn skin and he thought he would be ill.

  


7 days, 14 hours...

  


Here, alone, broken,

  


To die–

  


Slowly,

  


Painfully...

  


The ruined doll was crazy, trauma rained on him. Cracked and shattered till there was nothing left but what seemed real: rage, hatred,

  


Loneliness.

  


Nothing of the perfect prince laid to rest here his royalty forsaken for a shot at easing the pain that kept him from resting. 

  


Distorted pain. 

  


Nothing was clear and this child was different all together.

  


Oh Ra what had he turned the angel into?!

  


A demon? A spirit?

  


A horrible dream?

  


"I think I should kill you the way you killed me." The boy said thoughtfully. "I should rip out your heart and crush it in my hands."

  


Bakura furrowed his brow, "But that's not..."

  


"No?" Ryou cut him off. "Then tell me why I ran." Bakura hesitated. Ryou pushed the ring around his neck aside and tapped the small round wound on his chest. "Tell me how this came about then?" Bakura gave a pathetic whimper. No, he shouldn't have come here, he shouldn't have listened. Damn the voices! This wasn't real! "Yes I think that's what I'll do." Ryou giggled childishly, playfully tapping Bakura's chest before standing and walking away a bit, looking thoughtfully at his hands.

  


Bakura shook his head, trying to clear it, was the boy shifting personalities again? "I thought you were going to rip out my heart?" he growled menacingly. Ryou looked at him rather innocently.

  


"Rip it out? Ra no! Why do I need to rip it out? You left it here with me." Bakura made a noise of confusion and looked down at his chest feeling it burn slightly. A small round wound, just off the center of his chest. 

  


Neat and clean. 

  


Just like Ryou's.

  


"What is this?" he murmured then gave a small gasp as it came to life, leaking a thin trail of black blood down his chest.

  


"Don't you understand you fucking idiot?" Ryou hissed "You died with me; you left your heart with me. And I have no objections to crushing it and making you suffer." he extended his hand, showing Bakura exactly what he found so fascinating. His arm dripped blood up to his elbow, in his torn pale palm he held an oval of hardened muscle, severed jaggedly from its heavy veins which still half hung from it, dripping blood over the floor. Bakura cringed, biting his lip in total disgust.

  


"I believe this is yours." Ryou smirked, holding out the fleshed organ to the former tomb robber. Bakura only stared at it in total horror. This wasn't possible at all! How could he still be alive if he could see his own heart in the deranged prince's hand? "Don't believe me?" Ryou chided, leaning down to pick up one of the scattered daggers from the floor. "I'll prove it." Ryou held the smooth fleshy muscle in his hand, delicately running the small blade over it, watching intently as the flesh parted in a thin line under the very tip like a deep cat scratch, dividing it in two. Bakura screamed, hands coming up to dig at his chest. Pain split through him, feeling like claws tearing down the center of his chest. 

  


He gave a short gasp, feeling the cutting subside leaving its brutal afterglow and instinctively looked down at his chest. The small wound had gushed liquid red down his chest in a long river, but now under the ease of the assault, the blood slowed. "See?" Ryou smiled in a sickeningly sweet way, "You gave your heart to me. Just like you stole mine." Ryou smirked, pressing the flat of the blade down in one of the upper corners of the organ. It made a sickening pop, spattering blood across the half-dead boy. Bakura made a sudden cry, feeling a painful collapse in his chest and a wave of cold swept over him as if everything had suddenly decided to stop working. His skin felt numb and it seemed like there was a heavy weight on his chest.

  


But Ryou already seemed to be getting bored with the game and clenched his fist issuing a set of three wet gut-wrenching pops as the heart crushed in his fingers, spilling blood over the floor in sudden spurts. Bakura wailed, doubling over as the crushing pain struck his chest. His vision went white and he failed miserably in biting back his sob and the blinding feeling running over him.

  


He raised his head slightly, feeling his stomach turn again, watching through the veiled haze as Ryou held the crushed piece of flesh above his head, letting the blood drip from between bony fingers into his mouth, and then throwing it aside into the dust of the floor. Bakura gave another dull moan, feeling as if a hammer had been struck between his ribs just to add insult to injury. 

  


Ryou licked his lips, then smiled in a disturbingly sedated was, cleaning the dagger he held on what remained of the linen wrap about his waist. A blood trail down his chest told Bakura Ryou's own chest wound had opened again. "How does it feel, Yami?" he asked in a low, haunting voice, imitating the whispering voice that had drawn him here in the first place.

  


7 days, 15 hours...

  


"How does it feel to have what you did to me done to you? Have your heart held prisoner, 

  


Beaten, torn, cut, 

tortured, crushed 

  


Then cast aside like it was as worthless as the dust in this tomb."

  


Bakura choked in a breath and leaned his head back, staring up at the window above him.

  


He could vaguely see the moon and once more he preyed though he didn't know why. 

  


The pale light, the color of fatal illness, was the only thing giving some amount of sanity to this prison of mind and body.

  


_Illness..._

  


Physical – Emotional –

  


Mental –

  


at least if you were ill you were alive.

  


Was being alive worth it at all if ill meant you were trapped for eternity?

  


Was being ill worth it if it gave the body's prison comfort?

  


Trapped–

  


_Like a tomb._

  


A being walked into his line of vision, blocking out the carnal view, making Bakura whimper. The boy's face was shadowed and hidden; once more he had the golden crown set upon his head, the dagger clutched to his chest, ready...

  


Waiting...

  


"Does the light give you hope Bakura?" he asked softly. He nodded weakly, and then gave a small cry, reaching upward as the rock seemed to move and shift. Wreathing like maggots back and forth, closing over the rooms only source of light piece by piece. "I can't have that." Ryou said in almost a pitying tone, turning the dagger in his hand, using the other to drag Bakura up by his throat. Bakura tried to move only to find nothing wanted to work. The blood seemed to still in his body, barely anything left to move it.

  


The boy's eyes were cold as he pressed the dagger to Bakura's throat, welling up a line of crimson red to mark his place. "I've missed you for awhile, Bakura. But now, I'm glad to see you die. You'll never plague me again, no more cuts or bruises or being locked away and you'll be in this prison with me. Nothing, not even the light of false hope to ease your last breath. Enjoy it." Bakura choked slightly in the grip and looked up.

The wreathing snakes closed over the window. 

  


The last pin point prick of light vanishing, leaving everything black.

  


Black as death.

  


Darkness reigned,

  


All hope burnt out.

  


He heard someone laugh and laugh then cold metal hacked his throat.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


***************************************************

  


Hehehe... Hope you made it to the end and still want to see what's going to happen. Not the end yet. Are you putting the pieces and symbolism together yet? Do you see where I'm going with this? Chapter three will be around soon: Bargaining. It may help put light on the situation, or maybe only make it worst, who knows? But I promise it won't be like this one was. 


	3. Bargaining

First things first: Reviews!! I got so many I want to answer, sorry if I don't get around to some!

Kinsako: Stephen King? Whoa... I'm really flattered *blushes* I love Stephen King myself; would you believe until I moved a couple of months ago I lived only an hour away from him? I got to see his house and met him at book signings, I really do adore his work. "'Salem's Lot" or "It" being my favorites I think ^_^

Pink_ANgel_156: Wahoo!!! *arranges the stars proudly on her wall* Thank you!!

Elle-FaTe2x1: You sort of find out in this chapters. Key words... sort of... mwahahaha!

Destiny: O_O... Wow, I don't think a priest is needed, but it couldn't hurt considering the spot Bakura-kun has got himself in to. *Smirks thinking of a zombie Bakura, covered in eastern magic spells, being chased by a Marron Glace who's screaming "Be gone evil creature!!!" * YamiB: -_- U.... I'm not dead yet woman! LYB: HEY! Don't talk to me like that! Your life is in my hands! YamiB: Ra Forbid.... LYB: Oh yeah! And there is romance in this chapter! Yay for broody, albeit odd, fluff!!

Vappa: Awesome! You saw it! I did try my best to at least partially reverse roles. If you have an idea about what's going on please drop me a line with your thought. Just for future author's reference I want to be sure I'm getting my idea across the way I want to, so it would be really helpful just to be sure the impression I wanted to lead people toward is working. So don't worry! I promise not to bite ^_^, I just wouldn't mind having a readers view of the future so I know what to change in order to get the reaction I'm looking for. Thank you so much!! ^_^ 

samurai-ashes: I had trouble sleeping myself after writing. I was in total disbelief I could come up with something so... bloody... eee... but if I freaked out someone else, I did my job, so thank you ^^, ever though I hope I didn't scare you too bad *blushes sheepishly*. Yup, Bakura's heart was a symbol, and I think when this is over I might make a type of glossary of all the symbols and hints along the way so looking back on it is easier, especially for me cause I have such a horribly memory *sighz* Am so glad you like the emotion, this chapter has another slap in the face emotion change, so I really hope you like this one too! And maybe it will answer some question, maybe just give you more. Ahhh!!! I get confused typing this story sometimes @_@!! Thank you so much and hope you had (and will continue to have) pleasant dreams (instead of nightmares)!!!

Squrriel-HATER: Thanks so much!! I hope you got my e-mail!!

~ Kitty and Amethyst ~: Hey there!! Have I told you how much I love getting your reviews? Their always so light-hearted and make my day! I promise I'll clear up ALL the confusion in the next chapter and hope you stick with reading it through the even weirder things to come. I'll try my best to keep writing just for you ~_^

Dur En Thurin Naur: my fingers thank you very much for your kind praise! ^____^

Touya's angel: hehehe, I have a few more dark fic-ys coming out soon, it will be awhile though, I have to finish Drawing Down The Moon first :p

lotus re-incarnate: *blinks* wow... what more can I say... wow... I think that's one of the nicest things anyway has ever said about my writing... *blinks* in a non-sadistic way of course I mean... it's just... wow... thanks!

DcSolstice: My dear you just hit the nail on the head with figuring this story out. Yes those are the same 5 steps I'm using in the chapter titles, your other comments were damn close too but I dare not say anymore or I'll give anyway the ending... hehehe... very observant and very clever! Great job! I can't say more though or I'll ruin the story! Hey and no stray readers going back to read the reviews to see what DcSolstice said, for shame, that spoils the fun!

Charredrose: Thanks!! I love dark fics and novels myself, that's why I had to talk a shot at writing a psychological thriller. To answer you're question, in the manga Yu-Gi-Oh, the yami's only have breath and are physical within a hosts body or mind. They can't technically be in a body of their own that is visible to the world while they CAN be in a body that has interaction; but, ONLY their hosts and other spirits see and interact (touch) with them. But, for my own purpose it's easier to just fall into the fan fiction world and say Bakura has his own form, just considering I hope someday to take this story and publish it with non-amine characters considering when I started to write it, it was an original fiction and I hope it will be again someday. Oh my I ramble a lot don't I?

vixinkitsune: All questions will be answered in time... actually... they'll be answered in this chapter ^_^ so sorry about the cliffhangers!!

katia-chan: epp! Sorry if I took away your sleep! *bows in apology* Sorry! Sooooo sorry! And this chapter I promise isn't AS scary. It's actually cute for awhile!

EliteDragonSlayer: Hey now! *smirks* don't give away the ending since you already beta read the draft. *laughs* though I trust ya not to tell! Anyway, I did tell you how I changed the ending a bit didn't I? I think I did... umm.... Ra my memory is horrible! Anyway, I won't disappoint you, here is the 3 chapter, 2 more to go. And Hao? Stay in line or I'll send Ishtar and Tarriq after you!

Thanks goes to Keiko misstress of destruction, Happy_yaoi_lover2, SweetMisery1, Ashuri_chan, Jargonelle, NightmareSagitta, Luna, Fire of the Angel and confused child too! I'd leave messages for you too but ahhh!!! So many reviews!!! @_@ *falls over in exhaustion* 

YamiB: *pokes her with a random stick* hey! ... ... ... *pokes* hey, woman! ... ... *pokes again* hey! ... ....

LYB: X_x.....

Ryou: Do you think she's dead?

YamiB: I hardly think we're that lucky, abiou.

Tarriq: Hardly, she's just extremely flattered with all the reviews she's gotten.

Ryou: ^_^ I know I am! I should try to kill things more often!

YamiB & Tarriq: -_- U U ...

YamiB: ... Let's just not go there... 

Tarriq: Let's go into the story instead, mistress??

LYB: -_o... eh?

Tarriq: Anything you want to say?

LYB: Yup!!! ^_^

YamiB & Ryou: -_- U...

LYB: Well, here it is, chapter 3, bargaining. You can sort of see why the name applies but it becomes clearer in the fourth chapter. This one is a little more light hearted, not as creepy though it does have that haunted undertone to it. For romance lovers, there's a bit of cuddly fluff, for angst lovers... yeah this is Bakura and Ryou here and for dark fic lovers? Um... yeah... trust me there's a part for you too... hehehe...

******************************

Bargaining

******************************

He screamed, sending arms up suddenly to push his attacker away only to find his balance lost and he crashed to the floor, tangled tight in silk sheets and velvet comforter. He gave a cry as his head struck the stone floor and then a groan, rolling over slowly in the dark room.

For a moment he just lay there unmoving in the darkness, heart pounding in his ears as if maybe the deranged vision was still lurking in the shadows. His body glistened with sweat and the sheets clung uncomfortably to his cold skin. He let out a hot breath he didn't know he had been holding before sucking in another trembling gulp of air. Just a dream, nothing more. The hideous phantasm had indeed marked itself a nightmare.

He glanced at his hands, slowly talking them into releasing their white knuckled grip on the velvet comforter less he crush the soft scarlet to pieces, then they began to quiver uncontrollably. He forced himself to sit upright, sliding out of the rumpled sheets. Sweat still clung to his body, reminding him of the nightmare vision as he dumped the cloth back onto the stone framed bed he had fallen from.

He drew his breaths slowly, glancing about, pushing back locks of damp hair. "Take it easy, Bakura," he whispered softly to himself "It's just a dream; you only got tangled to tight in your sheets, that's why you felt so heavy. You're back in your soul room." The words did little to comfort him as he looked around the dimly lit room. Stillness prevailed but it was coldly comforting. He did know this place well... like the temples and tombs that once glowed glory in his own time. 

Walls of sandy stone carved with hieroglyphs told the story of his own life. White torches normally lit the wide room, but know only one burned, beating a radiant circle and shadows across the carved walls and stone floor. The ceiling arched, the inside of a great sphere dropping down into smooth walls. A small channel cut up through the ceiling that would have let in pale moon light but he had covered it up sometime before because the moon outside his mind was far more beautiful. Though normally, the shaft of pale waning light would cast itself upon the bed in which he slept, stone framed like a case but the mattress was down and his sheets were silk. Everything was flawless and untouched, not ruined at all. He loved this place, peaceful and eternal but he'd had more then enough of this room for the night and now its darkness terrified him. It did look like a tomb.

He shuddered moving for the massive stone door and pulled it open. This time it yielded without protest and he emerged into the emptiness of the hall then closed his eyes, locking on to the rings energy, pulling himself to the real world.

He sighed and shifted, looking down then gave an irritated grumble to find himself clothed in only a pair of old doctors scrubs. Comfortable, yes; Decent, no. He grumbled again. His hikari had no taste. He looked about the room and finally felt some amount of comfort. He stood before the ring that lay on the back of the bed which was like a shelf, its headboard doubling as a long thin shelf pressed against the wall. 

It only held a few books Ryou had been reading, stalked in a neat pile; the Wordsworth dictionary of mythology, The friendly Shakespeare, the medical associations Family Medical Guide, the book of Night with Moon. The ring lay on top of the pile. Bakura raised a brow, his hikari had strange taste. He couldn't imagine what Ryou would find so interesting in a book about not having any moon, or why anyone would consider a guy with a spear in his name friendly. He didn't find the mythology book unusual, Ryou always did have a soft stop for all things mysterious, but he did felt a twinge of guilt noticing the boy had take out the medical guide.

The walls here were a wonderful dark grey, almost like cool stone. But oddly, though the room only had one small, white-framed window, it wasn't a dark room at all. Just cool and soothing. He supposed it was the other colors in the room. The wooden headboard was pale wooded oak and at the end of the double bed laid a similar oak chest which was both a table and chest of drawers that spanned the width of the bed and was the same height. The room had a matching pale oak desk with a pale high backed chair with cream colored fabric. The carpet had the same pale cream color of the oak and the bedspread and pillows were all white, stuffed thick and fluffy with goose down, looking invitingly soothing as they would fold to anyone's whim just to make them comfortable and warm. It blended wonderfully with the dark walls, making the room earth, cool and relaxing.

But by far Bakura's favorite belonging of the room lay curled up under the heavy white covers. He smiled bitterly gazing down at the boy, he doubted he had ever felt as relieved as he did watching the innocent boy's chest rise and fall with the gentle breath of sleep. He clutched the pillow tightly, though his grip seemed to have slackened with fading conscious White strains of long hair fell across his sweet, flawless face, brown eyes closed in restless sleep, still slightly swollen from crying. Bakura reached out hesitantly to brush the hair away but pulled his hand back, letting his face harden once more. Instead, he just stood there. Consoled in the fact the beautiful angel was still himself. 

Bakura sighed gently, there was a funny pain in his chest, but it was foreign to him. He felt it whenever he watched Ryou sleep. When he had described it, Malik had told him it was regret – and heartbreak. But all he'd ever wanted was only to feel the boy in his arms, know the boy felt something, anything, even if it was fear. But no, he'd never said a thing. He avoided the boy like the plague when he could, but when he couldn't every bit of his effort went to making sure the boy knew he existed. 

He wanted to keep him safe. No one would ever harm this angel as long as he was there. No one but himself – the boy's own protector – his mind tacked on cynically. He didn't dare scan the boy's thoughts for what he felt. He didn't want to see them, fear, hatred, so be it, what's done is done. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms but opened them quickly seeing bloodshot eyes stair back at him. Testimony of brutality at it's worst.

He bit his lip. He refused to let that happen to the lovely prince. A small smile crossed his lips; he would look after this flawless angel so he would never fall into darkness. No one deserved the blackness in the heart of man. He was living proof of that. "Hikari," he whispered gently, "My Ryou..." he reached out to brush the hair away again only to pull back as the boy let out a small groan.

Bakura watched unsure of what to do as the boy rolled over, yawning and rubbing his eyes cutely. He blinked up at the tomb robber through curious sleepy eyes and Bakura fought the urge to give a delighted cry seeing them the most elegant chocolate brown. 

Ryou made a slight noise of questioning. "Yami?" he said softly in the sweet voice he had secretly come to adore, "Are you okay? You look..." Ryou stopped suddenly, looking away and Bakura's lip quirked a bit. The boy was afraid of even talking to him.

"You can say it." Bakura hissed, "I'm a mess." Still Ryou said nothing, only looked at him meekly. He growled in his throat, "Are you that afraid of me you can't even speak when I ask you?" Ryou gave a soft noise, but couldn't seem to find any words to reply to the double edged sword question. Bakura gritted his teeth in irritation. It wasn't the boy that bothered him; it was himself for making him that way. Ryou seemed to catch the change in demeanor and almost seemed to sink into the bed, half-hiding under the blankets. Bakura left his face soften and he looked away, flinching slightly watching the shadows in the room.

Every shape seemed to take on a haunting figured and he trembled slightly, afraid the distorted demon boy still lurked within them ready to attack them. He noticed Ryou was watched his face intently but he said nothing. He wasn't about to admit he had the childish urge to crawl into bed with him to hide from something as foolish as a nightmare... or apologize for what happened earlier. They remanded in uncomfortable silence for awhile.

"Do you want me to get you something to eat?" Ryou offered. Bakura's lips quirked in an irritated fashion again.

"You're not my servant," he replied, "I can get it myself."

Ryou blinked in surprise, it certainly wasn't like Bakura to turn down being waited on. But Bakura made no effort to leave. He still remained there, with his arms crossed, looking at the carpet. Ryou smiled gently, a mild, knowing smile. "Do you want to stay here tonight?"

Bakura didn't answer but he walked around to the other side of the bed and crawled under the fluffy white covers, his back to Ryou, refusing to let the prince see how relieved he was to feel himself sink down in the bed and be wrapped up in the heavy warmth of the comforter. He loved Ryou's bed. It was always comfortable and soothing, and the pillows always smelled like Ryou's shampoo. The best part of the relief was knowing the boy lay beside him although he couldn't see him. It wasn't the first time he had slept in this bed. He often napped in it when Ryou was at school. More then once both he and Ryou had fallen asleep in it after watching a movie on Ryou's television. Yes they did have their moments... when he allowed himself to be half-way decent. It was rare and treasured time. For right now, he was content to lay there in the warm bed.

"We never speak of this again." Bakura growled, but in his frightened state it lacked the threat he tired to put on it. He heard Ryou roll over to face his back and then heard him sigh softly.

"You don't seem well." Ryou said softly. "What's on your mind?"

Bakura fought the urge to laugh as all the answers occurred to him, I fear the future, I fear the past, I fear you... "I had a dream." He admitted in a quiet tone.

"You don't want to talk about it, do you." It was more a statement then a question and he shook his head no. He felt himself shudder as warm, gentle hands laded on his back, rubbing the soft skin in a soothing manner. He leaned back into the touch, appreciating the caring gesture as the light carefully worked out all the stress tightened muscles. 

Bakura bit his lip, trying to fight the miserable feeling dwelling in his chest. How could the youth be so good to him after everything he had done? The dream had it's element of truth, he'd abused the boy's emotions and body to no end because he couldn't take being alone. That in it's self was a blow to his ego. He knew he'd left his heart with the sweet angel and the boy did have the potential to ruin him, by simply vanishing into thin air. It surprised him for the little prince was so tender where he could be so brutal. But that was just the way he was. Where Bakura was cruel, Ryou was meek. He loved how perfectly graceful the boy was in comparison to how impulsive he was. The dark could only flourish when there was light to cast a shadow. As long as Ryou was there, he was complete.

He gave a slight shudder as the air seemed to grow heavy like it had in the dream. He hick-upped slightly, trying to find his breath again, once more his cheeks felt damp. "Yami? Yami? Are you okay?" Ryou pleaded in a soothing manor, gently smoothing back Bakura's wild white hair. "Talk to me." Bakura didn't say anything, just made a slightly irritated sound as he tried to stop the tears. Soothing arms wrapped around him in an uneasy hug and the feeling of choking subsided. Ryou started to pull away from him but Bakura put a hand on the arm about his chest, forbidding his to leave the embrace. Bakura lay peaceful as the long minutes ticked by, enjoying the feeling of have Ryou laying against him, his lovely rested snuggle between his shoulders. "Yami?" Ryou said after another moment of silence.

"Hmm?"

"Will you say something?" he begged "Anything?"

"What do you want me to say?" he asked softly, for whatever reasons his mellow state allowing him to humor the boy.

"Tell me what you think, what you feel... tell me a children's story for all I care, just say something... so I know it's really you here with me..."

Bakura looked down thoughtfully at the arms around him, running a finger idly over the milky skin. To let him know it was him... the person he remembered... the person he worried for now - though Bakura couldn't fathom why.

"There once was a man who had power beyond all imagination." He began in a soothing tone; Ryou curled up against him let Bakura silently know that this would do. "Everything he wanted was just within his grasp but he was never satisfied because nothing could ever change what had made him the vicious person he'd become. Finally one day, the king of the great land this man lived in had enough of the man showing him up and destroying his lands in his effort to regain what he had lost and more. So – he sealed him away, in a prison... a tomb..." he bit his lip "Buried alive... in a suspended animation... only awakening every few years to see if he was any closer to the one who could free him. Finally a beautiful prince came and opened the prison but that little angel was also a thief because the moment he entered into that man's tomb, he stole his heart. But you see there was a problem."

"Oh?" Ryou said expectantly and Bakura fought the urge to sigh feeling tender fingers smoothing his hair. He nodded.

"Yes, you see... the man may have loved the prince, but he resented him too."

"Why was that?" Ryou asked, yawning a bit, snuggling close to the warmth of Bakura's back.

"Because the prince was so innocent, loving and full of light – and he wasn't. It seemed unfair that someone so dark in nature was stuck with someone so good. So instead of reaching out to the beautiful prince like he should have, he thought it would be best to trap him instead. That way, the light couldn't interfere. He tried to lock the little prince away... tried to isolate him from everything. But he found he had forgotten something – the prince had his heart and even locked up, the man couldn't seem to get it back."

"What did he do?"

"Nothing... he just kept moving forward until one day it was to late to go back. The prince fled his prison and never came back..." He slowly let his hand on Ryou's arm fall away, he didn't want to feel the torturing angel skin against him. 

The soft arms pulled away hesitantly. "Why didn't he say anything?"

"He knew the prince feared him." Bakura rolled over, propping himself up on his arm to look at Ryou, who only gazed back, looking reflective. "He knew that if he were to ever touch the boy without malice..." he reached out, fingertips barely brushing Ryou's bare chest and the boy's face flashed fear, flinching away from the touch. "He would shy away – just like that." A resigned sigh crossed Bakura's lips and he rested his head back down on the pillow, wondering if the same terrified expression that crossed Ryou's face at his touch was the same look on his face when the demon in his dream had been about to strike him. He knew it... the boy saw him as a thing to be feared and hated. Ryou likewise laid his head down on the soft white pillows, watching the other boy carefully.

Once more they lay in silence, just staring at each other as if trying to figure out the contents of a book without opening the cover. Bakura reached out once more, carefully taking a lock of Ryou's hair between his fingers, enjoying the way it felt silky to his touch. Ryou seemed a bit surprised for a moment but relaxed after a second, smiling contently. Bakura pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. "How bad did I hurt you?" Ryou gave him a confused look in response. Bakura fought his habitual urge to groan "Tonight – how bad did I hurt you?"

Ryou dropped his eyes nervously, "It's not bad." He answered in a low voice.

"Can I see?" Bakura asked, and Ryou bit his lip in an uneasy gesture. "Just show me where I hurt you."

Ryou lifted the blankets a bit, raising his leg slightly and rolling up the pale green pants to reveal a swallow purple mess that could have been his knee. "Well, there's my knee..." Bakura made a face, wondering how the little light could even walk to bed on it, little own run on it. A trip to the hospital tomorrow would probably be in order for it. Ryou tipped himself so he lay on his stomach and pointed approximately to his right side. "This one hurts... my shoulder too." Bakura pushed back the covers to Ryou's waist and shook his head surveying the damage. The one on his back off to the side showed a faint yellow discoloration flicked with a ruby purple indent at its center. The smack on his shoulder didn't carry a scratch like it had in his dream but its origin was obvious enough. 

"That's it?" Bakura asked, hoping that would be the final count of wounds.

"One more." The boy muttered half into the pillow.

"Oh?" Bakura replied in a consoling voice, traveling his fingers tenderly over the bruise on his hikari's shoulder in an effort to possibly ease its discomfort. He could see nervousness play across the flawless pale face as he rolled back on to his side to face Bakura's direction and the darker boy once more propped his head up on his hand. A charming blush crossed Ryou's cheeks as he laid a finger just off the center of his chest. Bakura looked perplexed a moment, half-horrifically expecting a dime shaped wound but there was only smooth skin. He examined the area for a moment, perplexed when the unspoken words dawned on him in the form of a brief memory of his twisted nightmare. _"I should kill you the way you killed me. I should rip your heart out and crush it in my hands."_

Bakura swallowed and opened his arms to the wounded angel. He'd broken the youth's heart... but not his spirit. No, not yet. Ryou tilted his head down shyly and Bakura gave a slight sigh, gently taking the boy into his arms. Ryou didn't protest but didn't seem completely comfortable with it either. Bakura smoothed the hair around the boy's face and nuzzled it, showing him he only meant to hold him without harming him. He could feel the boy's heart beating against his chest. It felt wonderful to feel the lights bare skin against his. Even better when he felt Ryou curl up against him, delicate fingers resting lightly on his chest, curling a few strains of stray white hair around them. 

Bakura trailed his fingers down the youth's back. "I love you, hikari." Bakura whispered softly, "You're everything to me. My hope and what's left of my heart, my reason to keep living, just to see you alive and breathing. You are my everything. Though you'll never see it openly, never forget it. Never forget that I love you, that light inside you keeps me alive. I see you and... I see you and I know there's a place for me. Darkness in the light. Always know that."

Tender fingers stroking his shoulders in response, "Then..." Ryou paused a moment "why do you leave your bruises on me?"

Bakura thought a minute "You already know." He answered.

Ryou nodded slightly and shyly planted a kiss on the darker's cheek. "I do love you... there's nothing you could do to making me stop loving you... I would have come crawling back if I could."

"If you could?" Bakura repeated, a bit confused watching the boy.

Ryou nodded, "If I could. 

No matter how bad you've hurt me, 

I can't leave you. 

We share a soul and that bind me to you eternally. 

I can't leave you... my soul is bound to you 

And it will stay that way. 

I'm here with you, 

Till you go with me."

Bakura once more buried his face in the youth's soft hair, murmuring his name, liking the way it rolled so easily off his tongue. He smiled in a relieved way, feeling Ryou's arms tighten around him gently and he started trailing kisses through the boy's hair just out of pure joy from having his little love near him. He ran his fingers down the soft skin of the boy's back, the kisses dropped lower, brushing his lips against the silky skin of Ryou's neck and he felt the boy tremble in his arms. Bakura raised his head slightly looking at his light in concern. "Do you mind?"

Ryou blushed, smiling shyly and dropping his eyes a bit. "No, not at all... it's just..."

Bakura smiled, running his hand through Ryou's hair "To fast?" he offered, lying kisses over the boy's face. Ryou nodded and the darker boy backed off a bit. Ryou smiled shyly again and ran his fingers over Bakura's chest, tracing out the finely shaped lines on his stomach and Bakura fought the urge to sigh. Bakura ran his fingers down cheek, leaning slightly to let his lips hover above his. "If I promise to be slow and gentle?"

Ryou tipped his head, laying a soft kiss on Bakura's lips as a response, wrapping tender limbed arms about the yami's shoulders. The darker boy purred slightly in response and ran his tongue across the other boy's lips, pleading with him for a taste of the light he offered. Ryou parted his lips, wrapping his free leg around his yami's. Bakura gently tipped the smaller boy over, pressing him into the bed, moving to lay on top of him. The darker youth broke the kiss to look at the flushed boy beneath him, his breath becoming slightly shallower in anticipation. "You sure, Ryou?"

The pale boy smiled a bit, lightly kissing Bakura's cheek. "For tonight," he replied "Let's pretend everything is all right, that we never ran in fear or kept silent. Can we pretend we're in love and we'll always be together? Just for one night..."

Bakura leaned down, kissing his love deeply before tracing a line of soft kisses to the boy's ear. "My prince." He whispered gently "We are in love – and we will always be together."

"Promise?" Ryou replied. Bakura smiled, kissing Ryou's temple.

"Promise." He answered before once more kissing Ryou's lips.

# # # # # # # #

Bakura gave a contented purr, pulling the boy in his arms a bit closer. Ryou sighed, smiling as he shifted more comfortably into the embrace. "Are you feeling okay? Do you hurt?" Bakura sighed softly, trailing his fingers through Ryou's hair as the lights head rested on his chest.

"I'm fine, Yami." He replied, offering him a more relaxed smile. "I may hurt some later but right now I'm fine. I'm glad I came back."

"I am too." Bakura replied, kissing the top of the boy's head. 

There was a ring and Bakura looked up, eyeing the black digital clock on the back of the bed.

7:16...

Bakura blinked...

Why did it feel familiar?

7:16...

"Ryou, why is your alarm going off... I know it's not really 7:16."

The boy yawned lazily. "Never mind it yami. It's screwed up. I'll fix it in the morning." Ryou gently took Bakura's wrist held out to grab the alarm clock and brought it to his lips, kissing the soft skin on the underside of his wrist. Bakura smiled, relaxing back into the bed, watching the light kiss his wrist. 

He gave a light cry of shock as he felt Ryou's teeth break into the skin and abruptly Ryou let him go, looking a bit worried. "I'm sorry." The boy said quickly, "I didn't mean to hurt you." Bakura furrowed his brow, looking at the wound.

Blood welled up quickly from a deep gash.

He didn't think teeth could make such a mark

But passed it off...

"It's okay, hikari." Bakura smiled, "I'm sort of a sucker for pain." Ryou laughed in spite of himself.

"You're a masochist?" he giggled. Bakura wagged his uninjured hand pointedly.

"And you're a sadist," he retorted with a smirk. "Never thought you'd be the type, little prince."

Ryou gave an embarrassed laugh "Nah... I'm just... a bit vampiric." Bakura blinked in surprise, than laughed.

"Like me, way back when." Ryou laughed a bit at Bakura's comment and Bakura glanced around, seeing a small unopened pocket knife on the back of the bed, 

He didn't recall seeing it before,

But he didn't really take note of it either,

Just picked it up.

He flicked it open and Ryou watched him curiously as he settled back down in the bed. "My gift to you, my love – so I will always be part of you and always be with you. Even if we share a body and soul so only death could part us, I can give you my very essence of life, my very blood – so not even death could part us, because if you die, you'll still have my living blood in you to keep you and if I die, you still have my blood within you so I'll go on with you." He dragged the blade across his unharmed wrist, wincing slightly as the red spilled up over the blade.

Ryou gave a small noise as Bakura held out the wound to the boy, using his free hand to try to keep the blood from spilling all over the bed. Ryou glanced at Bakura to check once more if it was safe and the darker nodded 

Letting the dark red fall against his hikari's lips 

Before Ryou took the wounded wrist in his hand 

Closing his lips over the wound.

Bakura gave a light sigh, watching his light suck at the cut like an innocent vampire. He looked around once more and grabbed one of the discarding pairs of pale green pants, using then to clean most of the blood away from his skin and hand before it could stain the white sheet or blankets and letting Ryou lap up anything left. He laid his head on the pillows, smiling as he watched his light. 

His life was only Ryou's now. 

He'd offered his own blood to him. 

Bakura closed his eyes...

It should have been perfect...

Yes perfect...

*Should* be perfect...

*********************************

Did I chill anyone with that? I dunno, but I kinda freaks me out to think to Ryou as a blood drinker AND enjoying it. Of course there is one other thing that might help the mystery a bit, can you find the two diffrences between Bakura's state of mind in the previous chapters and this one, and then when they oddly become the same again? Think about it and see where it leads you... any idea's what's happening? R & R everyone, I'd love to know what you think and yeah *looks sheepish* I know you're still confused, I promise answers in chapter 4: Depression...

YamiB: -_- *u... where do you get this shit?

LYB: I don't – know...


	4. Depression

Destiny: *laughs and pushes Marron forward jokingly* we'll answer your prayers soon, just be patient, won't we priest?

     Marron: O_o... umm...?

Vappa: Yay! That was what I was trying to do, make it happy and dream-like, very OOC so there's a feeling of something not being right and that something is a little out of place. Yeah, it really does need to be beta read... I have a hard time finding my own mistakes. I should repost a grammar perfect version if I get a reader for it.

katia-chan: I'm thrilled you like both my stories so well! I still love Gutterflower above all my other writings thus far and I promise the two sequels (which are side-stories of each other) are up and coming right after I finish DDTM. Hope you like them too!

YBakurastwinsoul: Nah, I don't think I'm going to make Ryou that twisted again in this story ^^

samurai-ashes: Yay! Nightmares are bad... as we are soon to see *smirks* anyway, yeah, I thought it was kinda kinky myself and I was afraid fanfic.net would pitch a fit but I got lucky. I know some writiers who have been banned for worst, I got banned myself once for a chapter in Gutterflower which they made me re-write... damn it. Oh well. I don't know if this plays out like you wanted it too, but I really hope you'll like it anyway.

LadyLunarPhoenix: Thank you very much ^^ I'll go back and fix those typo's right away!

Miss Azure: hehehe... thanks... I'm happy someone picked up on my counting trick. ^^

Elle-FaTe2x1: Yeah, Bakura mellows out a lot in chapter 3 because in his 'real' world he's a bit more stable and much more able to think clearly. I tried my best to show that with paragraphing, when Bakura's thoughts turn obsessive, unreal, panicked or delusional I tend to put the thoughts in choppy one lined paragraphs, so it reads like he thinks, while his more fluid thoughts are in long paragraphs. As he gets more unstable, the choppy thoughts increase and replace the fluid ones. Hehehe... I think I get it from watching movies like Donnie Darko, Mulhulin Drive and Soul Survivors one to many times and from more then enough Dean Koontz, Shirley Jackson and Stephen King novels.

        YamiB: Well for the love of Ra stop it and leave me alone!!!!

        LYB: I'm so sorry... I'm having to much fun... ^^

        YamiB: O_O!!

Vsakura: I tried ^^ .

Anyway, yeah, here's the fourth chapter... *promptly falls asleep on her keyboard.................zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz......*

Ryou: umm... do you think she's dead ~now~?

YamiB: Don't you learn?! We aren't that lucky!

Malik: Hardly...

Ryou&YamiB: O_O!

YamiB: Why are you here?!

Malik: Don't ask me, *grinz* I just show up randomly cuz I'm her favorite.

YamiB: phff... don't kid yourself... even you don't have that much bad luck.

Malik: True.

Ryou: Then why ARE you here?

Malik: I'm supposed to be a symbol for something... I just don't know what.

Cyris: -_- u... that helps such a great deal with the mistress so exhausted from exams and writing this.

Malik: Maybe we should just introduce this for her and get it over with.

YamiB: *pushes Ryou forward a bit* You do it hikari, you get the short end of the stick in this chapter.

Ryou: ~I~ do?? What about you!

Malik: You do in a manner of speaking...

Ryou: o_o... 

Okay, I... umm... I guess since LYB is sleeping at the moment I should give you a bit of a run down. Umm... there's nothing very cheerful about this chapter, it's pretty dark and can get very choppy and confusing. All I can really say is brace yourself for one of those Butterfly Effect type movies... what are they? Oh yeah, psycho-thrillers...

***********************************************

Depression

*********************************************** 

Bakura smiled and yawned, it had been years since he felt happy about getting up in the morning, but it seemed justified after a damn good night. He stretched slightly, intending to put his arm around the boy in bed but it hit nothing. He blinked his eyes open in surprise and looked around.

Yes, he was in Ryou's room,

In Ryou's bed,

But the other half was empty.

The sheets weren't even turned down to indicate anyone any one had ever been there. Bakura sat up, his eyes marked with questioning. "Ryou?" he called. No one answered. He gave a bit of a pained gasp as he leaned too much weight on his wrists and lifted them up, blinking. He didn't recall bandaging the wounds on his wrists and certainly didn't recall Ryou wrapping them either but they were neatly bandaged and fastened.

He shifted slightly, kicking back the dull yellow covers; he was still wearing the doctor's scrubs. And what had happened to the white comforter? "The hell?" he muttered. He looked at the white digital clock, it read 7:32 but in his mind he kept thinking 7:16 and he didn't know why. Why did it feel like he was forgetting something important? Ryou had only fixed the clock like he said he would. He blinked again, wasn't that clock black before?

Bakura shook his head, no he was being foolish. He got out of bed and picked up a plain grey shirt – almost habitually, from the floor, pulling it on, ignoring the fact it looked like it hadn't been washed in days and had a few grass stains near its hem. It just seemed right to wear it. He didn't recall the room being such a mess the night before and always knew Ryou to be extremely picky about keeping his room clean. It was on the verge of being a total disaster zone. There were empty glasses and vacant dishes on the desk, clothes – mostly his own – lay about on the floor, books of all types lay opened and tossed haphazardly on the back and end of the bed as if Ryou had taken all his favorites and read in a mad rush trying to see what was in them he had come to like so well.

No, he was positive he didn't dream it; he remembered specifically falling asleep in his soul room. He even knew as much that it was Tuesday night, making this Wednesday morning. Maybe Ryou had left for school... no, it was too early yet. Bakura glanced at the desk, the ring hung over the back of the chair, glinting in the morning light and he picked it up, putting it around his neck, reminding himself to give it to Ryou. He was probably downstairs getting breakfast like usual. 

Bakura stretched again, opening the bedroom door and walking to the stairs, he was about to call for Ryou again when he heard voices below. "When will Mr. Bakura be home?"

"He got home a few days ago but stayed with a family friend instead."

"Understandable."

"Should we wake Yami Bakura?" a female cut into the male voices talking, he growled under his breath, it was that annoying Tea girl. "It'll be eight soon."

"I don't think it would be wise." Bakura gave another growl knowing very well the voice had been the pharaoh's. A few more voices chimed into the hushed argument one by one: Tea, Yami, Tristen, Yugi, Joey, Kaiba, Duke, Mai... oh he was ready to kill. How dare they be in his house and so damn early! He was about to march downstairs and throw them all out when a sharp voice scolded them all, making him smirk, "Shut the fuck up and leave him the hell alone! Let him sleep all God-damn day if he wants to. He doesn't WANT to be here, doesn't NEED to be here and it may be best if he WEREN'T here anyway."

Well said, Malik, Bakura smirked to himself. He always appreciated the Egyptian, even come to love him, for whatever reason they had become the best of friends as well as the worst of enemies... but something lingered in him at the moment that said Malik was his beloved friend. 

Everything fell silent after Malik spoke and Bakura set his foot on the stairs, wincing as they gave a creak, protesting his descent back into some amount of society. One by one he descended, looking across the hall at the bottom into the living room. Yes they were all there, even Isis – though Malik's sister had obviously seen it fit to stay quiet. He didn't want to deal with any of them right now, though they were all looking at him as if he was the prime focus of their lives for the time being, faces unreadable... he merely glared back.

"Is Ryou in the kitchen?" he addressed coldly, only interested in seeing the object of his affection. 

The group exchanged looks of worry, save Malik who only smiled distantly in an empathetic manner, walking toward him. Bakura stood stoically two stairs from the bottom as Malik stood completely at the very base. "How are you feeling?" The Egyptian asked gently, and Bakura gave him a look.

"I'm fine you bloody moron. Why wouldn't I be?" Malik seemed shocked and stepped back. Bakura glance up noticing everyone in the room looked equally as stunned. More so they all seemed to be dressed more formally then normal. "And why the hell are you freaks in my house? Do you know what time it is? If you woke my hikari, I swear to fucking Ra I'm going to hurt each and every one of you." Everyone seemed to have their own reaction to this. Yugi gave his darker a desperate look and Yami just sighed, putting his hands in his pockets. Likewise Mai sighed, Kaiba and Isis both shook their heads in a pitying manner while Joey, Tristan and Duke all exchanged a hopeless look and Malik just gazed at him sorrowfully.

"What is it?" Bakura asked, watching their reactions, "Is something wrong with Ryou?" Fear started turning in his chest again, no, nothing could be wrong. He refused to believe something was wrong. 

Malik looked back at the others pleadingly as if for help before looking at Bakura. "Kura? What day is it?"

Bakura looked at him with surprise. "It's Wednesday you idiot. The fourteenth, that special on Egypt we've been planning on watch together comes on tonight." Yes, that was right. He'd completely forgotten that. It was then he noticed everyone seemed totally shell-shocked at his answer. Bakura felt his stomach twist sickeningly. "What's going on?!" he demanded, "Where's Ryou?!"

Yugi turned his eyes on his Yami again, a strange fear in his ruby eyes "Yami? What's wrong with him?" he asked in a low whisper, though Bakura's sharp hearing picked it up.

"Post traumatic repression." He responded sympathetically, not bothering to keep his voice low.

"Post-tra-who'z-a-what-zit?" Joey blinked. Yami shook his head, looking too frustrated to try to attempt an answer.

"Memory suppression." Kaiba explained briefly, "God knows he's been out of it enough."

"What the fuck are you talking about!?" Bakura hissed trying to fight off the horribly lingering feeling of dread. "Where's Ryou?!" He was going to kill if anyone else made a remark and he was blessedly thankful it was the Egyptian who spoke.

"Bakura, listen to me." Malik said in a soothing manner, "It's not the fourteenth; it's the twenty-second."

Now that was the stupidest thing he had ever heard, but an alarm went off inside his chest. "I think I'd remember some seven – eight days Malik!" he protested. 

"Well apparently you don't!" Malik snapped back just as quickly. His face softened again, looking distinctly depressed, "Bakura, I don't want to be the one to enlighten you, I don't think you'd believe me. Apparently your own mind doesn't believe it."

Bakura gave him a look of total and lost confusion, he felt the air growing heavy again. The place felt like a tomb. "Where's Ryou?" he whispered pitifully as Malik laid a hand on his arm. Something was horribly out of place,

Out of place in actions,

Out of place in words,

Out of place in time.

"Come on Bakura, why don't I take you to bed?"

Bakura shook his head horribly confused as Malik stepped up beside him. He didn't even realize he had almost fainted until Malik latched his arm about his waist to prevent him from falling. "Easy, you're not well. Do you remember last night?"

Bakura nodded getting more to his feet as the Egyptian helped him up the stairs. "Yes... I had a nightmare and Ryou, he... he let me get in bed with him. We talked and... Later he bit my wrist." He glanced down at the bandages. "He drank from me."

Malik looked at him with such a bitter, sorrowful expression Bakura felt something tell him to weep for this poor youth and all he had done but he didn't know why. "No Bakura, Ryou hasn't been here. You cut your own wrists in bed. I wrapped them and changed the sheets then laid you to sleep."

Bakura's head reeled, "No, Malik, I know what happened." His heart raced, suddenly Malik's hand felt cold and damp, he looked down and cried out seeing pale, tattered fingers, their loose flesh leaving blood trails on his arm.

He jerked away, screaming and Malik grabbed him before he could fall over the stairs. Everyone in the room below was on their feet. "Bakura! What's wrong with you?!" Malik demanded and Bakura relaxed slightly seeing only the tanned Egyptian with his dainty, warm hands. Suddenly he felt extremely foolish, but he could smell the blood in the air, stagnant and familiar. He dared to let his eyes wander to the top of the stairs and once more he screamed, fighting Malik's arms.

The white haired boy leered down at him with frightening eyes, torn skin looking even more decayed and obstructed in the light of day. The boy laughed sadistically, "Did you think you could forget? Did you think you could escape the prison you made for us? You sad, sad little child." Bakura let out another dispirit cry, trying to escape Malik again.

"The hell?!" The Egyptian gasped, "Bakura, what is it?"

"Can't you see him?!" he cried, feeling dizzy and ill.

"See who?" Malik asked looking up the stairs, right at the demon at its top. 

Bakura pointed at the boy who stood smirking, eyes barely seen from under stringy locks. "The demon boy!"

"Bakura there's no one there!"

"No! It's Ryou! He wants to kill me! Don't you see? I buried him alive!" he wailed desperately, clinging to Malik's shirt as if he could ring sense out of his blonde locked consort.

"What the hell is he talking about?" Joey said, the group had now gathered at the foot of the stairs.

"He's hallucinating." Bakura registered Yami answering briefly as the pharaoh quickly turning to Kaiba "Kaiba, call for help! You know people who can deal with these things!"

"Who the hell should I call?!" Kaiba retorted, "The Ghostbusters? What's a hospital going to do for him? He was always half-insane."

"He looks totally insane right now!" Yami snapped in rage.

"Bakura, Bakura!" Malik called out, shaking him fiercely, taking his attention from the scenes below and above, "Listen to me! Hey! Listen to me. You trust me don't you?"

Bakura calmed slightly, nervously gripping Malik's arms, dumbly nodding yes. "Listen 'Kura... Ryou's not buried alive. Ryou's not here."

"He lies!!" The boy shrieked.

"Trust me, old friend." Malik said softly, in a soothing tone, bring up his hand to stroke the youths cheek in a comforting manner. "You're seeing things that aren't real. You're mind is trying to convince you of something it wanted to happen but didn't. Trying to convince you of something that didn't happen."

Bakura looked up the stairs,

No one was there,

Empty as his mind...

"Where's Ryou?" he whimpered again, leaning heavily against the Egyptian, unsure of how long his own knees could hold him. Malik gave him an uncertain look, awkwardly holding the spirit and smoothing his hair in an attempt at comfort. Bakura watched his face in desperation,

Malik wouldn't lie to him,

No,

The Egyptian never lied to him.

He'd be honest.

Bakura watched uneasily as Malik looked down at the others and gestured for them to step back, refusing to do anything else until they had. Bakura could practically feel Malik's reluctance as the blonde put his arms around him, holding him with brotherly affection. "He's in the dinning room." He said softly.

Bakura easily shoved the Egyptian away, downing over the stairs and down the hall. "Bakura! Don't!" Yami cried, trying to grab him.

"You idiot!" He heard Isis yell at her brother, who completely ignored her, opting instead to watch him gravely. Bakura pushed past them all, running into the dinning room.

There was a moment of silence till an earth shattering wail broke it, crying out as if from hell itself, making everyone wince. "You idiot..." Isis murmured to herself more then anyone else, and brought up her delicate hand to covering her face as if to hide it from the world.

# # # # #

Bakura stood in total shock after screaming. "No it's not possible, it can't be possible..." he whimpered over and over. He closed his eyes hoping it was another nightmare but when he opened them, it was there again. The flowers, the wood, the lingering peace and stillness of the room...

The air was heavy and he choked again...

The boy was still there....

Lying...

Eyes closed in the case, an eternal distortion of a bed.

It wasn't real, it couldn't be!

No, he was dreaming.

He whimpered... walking forward. There was no doubt the boy was not sleeping. His skin was too pale, to painted. He didn't look sleeping like everyone claimed you were supposed to, he looked dead. 

Like a replica made of porcelain, 

Unchanging, 

Unmoving.

"You see?" a soft voice spoke to him and he turned to look at the boy who stood in the doorway, shirtless in a pair of doctors scrubs, white hair falling delicately over his shoulders.

"Why don't I remember this?" Bakura whispered softly, his breath to shallow to talk any louder.

"You're mind won't let you believe he's gone." The boy answered, smiling in the sweet way only he could. "Think about the things you said you saw last night. You're mind gave you clues, no doubt."

Bakura fell to his knees, sobs coming in deep gasps of uncontrollable grief as he cowered away, back tightly to the wall, head in his hands. "No! I'm dreaming again! It's not real! I'll wake up again and be in my soul room."

"Bakura, this isn't a nightmare or dream you'll wake up from. You've been living in dreams so long you don't know where they end and reality begins."

"You're a ghost," he snapped bitterly, "what do you know? Leave me the fuck alone! I don't want these dreams! Leave me alone!"

"Bakura, will you listen to me?"

"Go way and let me sleep in peace!!"

He gave a sharp cry as a solid blow landed on his cheek and Bakura whimpered, opening his eyes to look at his attacker. The blow was too real... to sharp and more stinging then painful... the sting told him he wasn't dreaming. The one before him was not an innocent looking boy; it was a golden haired Egyptian youth. 

"Malik, how is he?" A voice said entering the room, Bakura didn't bother to acknowledge the person, everything felt to numb, and he didn't care.

"Get lost, Pharaoh! Let me handle this!" the Egyptian snapped before kneeling in front of Bakura. Bakura vaguely noticed someone leaving the room. "Will you listen now?" Malik said softly. 

Bakura bit his lip, the air was so still and stale, it reeked of Chrysanthemums but they could hide the bitter smell of something like heavy cleaning solution underneath. "Malik, I can't breathe..." he moaned, clutching his collar.

"Bakura, its okay, take slow breaths."

The only response Bakura could give was a mess of sobs. "Don't fucking tell me its okay." He whimpered, the pain on his voice ruining the threat he tried to make. "My light is dead. DEAD! And I don't even know what happened!"

"You know what happened Bakura, you're mind just doesn't want you to." Malik said soothingly, laying his hands on Bakura's shoulders. 

Bakura shuddered hearing the clock in the living room chime.

1... more day down

2... beautiful brown eyes he'd never see again

3... bruises

4... maybe more millenniums he had waited only to have the light stripped from him.

5... minutes he could never have back

6... pints of blood

7... days

8... bells chimed out the hour...

"7 days, 17 hours..." Bakura whispered.

"Beg your pardon?" Malik said softly, but Bakura cringed, the voice seemed to right in his ears.

"Malik, it's been 7 days, 17 hours..."

The Egyptian seemed to think on this a minute before nodding. "Yes, that's right. 3 pm, Wednesday the fourteenth."

"I dreamt it." Bakura stammered, "I kept track of the hours in my sleep."

Malik nodded to this as well, smiling bitterly. "You've been counting the hours to me since Wednesday."

"It was so real." He whispered, "Malik, I had him in my arms just last night. He was kissing me, touching me. I could feel him against me, I could feel him curl up to me. He was warm... and... he trembled... It was so real..."

"It wasn't real, Bakura. You must have day dreamed it or hallucinated it while you cut your wrists. Or both."

Bakura trembled, his heart racing with blind fear. He'd been left alone, forsaken and forgotten. Locked away once again, did the God's like to laugh at him? To give him such a precious gift then strip it away? He closed his eyes, oh it was bittersweet misery! 

He never did tell the boy what he felt nor have that chance to hold him. 

To say he was sorry,

That he didn't mean for this to happen

Everything just got out of hand,

Out of control...

Out of his control...

7 days, 17 hours...

"The bruises are real aren't they?"

"Bruises?" Malik questioned raising a brow.

"He had three bruises in my dream, in my nightmare, but their real aren't they?" Bakura closed his eyes, ahh... this was real, pain was real. Cowered in the corner terrified that if he opened his eyes to see the wooden chest he would crawl in there with him and refuse to come out. He wondered how long he would last buried alive. 

Would he go insane?

Was he already insane?

He would love to go insane.

Yes, then things would seem real.

He opened his eyes, careful to divert them from the alter made up for everyone's last farewells. He laughed at the thought. They missed their chance to say good-bye, how the fuck could a dead boy hear them. Unless... he whimpered again looking behind Malik, the demon boy stood there, smirking smartly, tattered and torn doll he was.

"What is it, Bakura?" Malik said gently as he stroked Bakura's pale hair.

"I don't know what's real, Malik... how much of this is just a dream? How much am I just making up again?"

"I can't tell you, Bakura. I can't see what you see. Maybe you should go back to bed."

Bakura shook his head franticly, fear drowning him.

He wanted Ryou,

He wanted it back,

He wanted a gun.

Yes! That sounded right.

He wanted a gun.

"Come on," Malik said gently, taking his arm. "You'll feel better if you just sleep through the funeral."

"Sleep!" Bakura's eyes flashed violently and he latched on to Malik's shoulders. "No! Malik! I can't let them bury him! What if he's still alive? What if his spirit is just lost somewhere and that why I'm haunted!?"

"Bakura you're being foolish, can we please leave this room?" Malik looked over at the artificial bed nervously and Bakura's eyes narrowed noticing the action as odd.

"No." the yami said sharply, taking back his hand and striking Malik across the cheek, causing the tanned boy to recoil and hiss under his breath. "I won't leave him."

"Bakura, he's not there! It's an empty shell! What's done is done!"

Bakura looked at him, clueless, "What's done is done..." he repeated. Somewhere in the back of his mind something echoed. 

_What's done is done yami! Leave me alone! I wish you'd never existed!_

There was the sound of delicate metal as it was thrown against the wall. 

A door slammed.

Bakura gave a cry, burying his face in his hands. He's never felt so alone, so isolated, a perfect tragedy. Nothing before compared to this, not even when the village was murdered around him. It wasn't until he was sealed in the ring that voices of those victims stopped whispering in his ears. No that didn't even compare. "Kuru Eruna..." he murmured.

"What was that, Bakura?" the Egyptian asked.

Bakura glared at him, "My name is not Bakura." He hissed. Malik looked at him confused. "I named myself Bakura. Ba-kura. Soul of Kura. Kuru Eruna. My village was massacred when I was a child. I have no reason to be Bakura anymore."

"What are you talking about," Malik asked desperately "You make no sense! It's a lunatics ravings!"

Bakura shook his head violently, trying to get the cobwebbed feeling to leave him be. "I called myself Bakura because of the pain I felt for my village. The pain I felt when their dead spirits followed me around –"

"... Followed you?"

"– and told me to avenge them. This pain is worst." He barely got the sentence out when his voice broke off in a sob, tears falling over his face in rivulets "There's nothing there! It's like half of me is gone!" He looked up at the Egyptian pleadingly "Why didn't I die too?"

"You were in your own body at the time." Malik replied looking lost for some reason Bakura couldn't place. 

# # # # #

Malik watched in horror as Bakura fell silent, eyes glazing distantly. They fixed blankly on Malik, making the Egyptian's heart flutter with fear. 

The eyes were so dull where they once spoke of a wild, unstoppable nature. Malik hated the eyes he now saw. Bloodshot from lack of proper sleep, stunning chocolate mixed with violent red furrowed in some emotionless state, sunken into chalk white, bruised skin looking out from under stringy white hair falling over his face. So clouded and lifeless, the mind that had been constantly turning, constantly creating, behind them had stopped.

Malik could see it and it scared him. Kuru Eruna meant nothing now, so revenge meant nothing, thus the items meant nothing, in Bakura's mind; his whole reason for living was now nothing. His hikari had become more important to him without him even knowing it and now it was gone. Gone with it his whole reason for existing, Malik understood that. He sighed distantly and sat beside Bakura, allowing the crumpled figure to curl up in his arms and sob into his chest.

Time ticked by and he just sat, there was nothing he could say and being so close to the lifeless body was making him nervous, but still he stayed... finding comfort that Bakura's trembling had resolved into wailing sobs... and he knew Bakura had accepted the truth once again. To Malik, it was like replaying the day Ryou died all over again, and eventually the former spirit stopped his tears. Malik watched him carefully looking for any sign he was going to try something stupid again. He would try to watch Bakura better this time, he knew he wasn't well. After all, Bakura had just admitted himself, if he knew it or not, he had hallucinated dead loved ones before... though he was strong enough to survive the visions of Kuru Eruna, perhaps he was strong enough to survive this too. It was all he could do. He had to watch Bakura more closely for the abruptness that left him in a frantic rush for medical aid the night before. It was all he could do to just love him and take care of him.

He raised his head as Bakura looked around, dull eyes falling across the room to the door and seemed to be listening, watching, and his eyes moved slowly to the open box. "You can leave if you want to." Malik offered, "You don't have to see."

"You have to tell me..." whispered Bakura gently, "Are the bruises real?"

Malik shook his head at the obscure question. He didn't understand where Bakura was getting bruises from or why he would ask again. "I don't know 'Kura, I don't know what you're talking about."

Bakura continued to stair past him as if watching something intently, "In my dreams he had bruises. Bruises I made. In my dreams I knew why they were there, I put them there and now I..." he trailed off as if he'd totally forgotten what he was talking about. 

"Don't remember?" he offered. Malik gritted his teeth, maybe Bakura had finally snapped. 

# # # # #

Bakura blinked "Don't remember..." he repeated slowly. The words seemed to fit so he left them as they were. He slowly got to his feet, walking cautiously toward the body, standing over it stoically. Bakura looked at the boy in longing, reaching out and touching his face, recoiling slightly at how the skin didn't even feel like skin. He wanted it to be soft, warm but this was almost like plastic.

Plastic...

Yes...

Even such a malleable thing left marks.

Plastic marks on plastic skin... a table?

Yes!

The coffee table... the fire place...

Could it...

"Malik!!" Bakura wailed, backing away in terror from the stilled picture. The demon laughed in his mind. "Malik! I remember!" Bakura backed into the wall and still tried to get away, there was no where left to go. _Murder, murder, hot blooded murder! Is that what you want?_

Malik caught the former yami in his arms as the random incoherent words fell off his lips. "Bakura! You're not making any sense!"

"I killed him! Malik, it's all my fault!" Malik blinked in confusion, "I didn't mean for it to happen! It just got out of control!"

"What are you talking about? Bakura, nothing was your fault."

Bakura shook his head sorrowfully, "No, Malik... I remember... bit by bit"

Malik wrapped his arms around him, stroking his hand and Bakura laid his head pitifully on Malik's shoulder, trembling and half sobbing. "What do you see?" Malik said gently, "I'll tell you what you're mind cannot." Bakura winced slightly and closed his eyes. 

"We were fighting..."

# # # # #

He could see it all in his head like a dream you can't quite recall, but you know it happened because of vague images caught in still framed moments. 

Hints of color, 

Visions of actions, 

Whispers of sound 

And none of it true to life. 

But this was his dream, the dream his reality. He could only find it in the way things felt. 

Touch them and they were real. 

Feel them and they were real.

He reached out to touch the vision of the boy in his mind. 

He could feel him, he was real.

He could touch the dreams, they were real.

They had been terrifying.

That was it!!

He wanted Ryou to stay home that day. The youth had to walk to school but had caught a cold from somewhere and it was raining outside. There was no harm in one day. But Ryou had shown he did have a temper or at least an end to his supposedly infinite patience. Through everything he had shown infinite patience, infinite fucking patience until that moment.

He'd commanded Ryou to stay home, but Ryou insisted he had to go to class... something about a test in Ethics. Finally... Bakura kept talking, but it was apparent Ryou had simple stopped responding... stopping listening. That tormented him to no end. The one thing he strived for was a reaction from Ryou. That was all he had ever wanted... to feel him move under his touch. 

Quiver, tremble, shudder,

Flinch, cry,

Scream,

Break,

Anything

...just a reaction. 

He wanted to see his light felt... felt anything. If not love, he needed to know the boy felt something for him.

Kinship, hate,

Fear,

So be it.

At least it was real.

Anything to make it real.

To know Ryou had him always in his thoughts, an angel or plague.

To somehow, _anyhow_ be close to him.

The insolence spited him.

To no end, it spited him.

When Ryou didn't respond and he looked at that oblivious, sweet face the anger snapped. Like always. Always looking for a reaction and he struck him hard on the back of the shoulder, sending him into the wall... and the boy screamed.

Yes, that would do.

"Don't turn your back on me!" he yelled and the boy turned round, eyes looking so desperately hurt. Ryou didn't answer. He gave a cry of frustration at the boy's silence.

They stood in the living room at the time and he started to roar again. He didn't remember what he said. He did remember it got him no where. So once more he struck out and the boy gave a cry, loosing his balance.

He fell. There was a crack as his knee struck the fireplace hearth. Once more there was a cry and the boy fell back with the pain, landing on the corner of the plastic trimmed coffee table.

Another scream.

Another sob.

His heart broke.

Chocolate brown eyes looked up at him with such sorrow, tears pooling down his cheeks. "If you're not careful I'll be dead someday." The boy sobbed, seeming torn as to whether he should nurse his knee or his side, both of which showed red come through his neat clothes. "Murder, murder, hot blooded murder!" the youth cried out suddenly. He blinked in shock, the words unwillingly burning themselves into his head. "Is that what you want?" The boy had drug himself to his feet. "To see me die? There are easier ways, Bakura!"

He didn't answer, just stared. This wasn't quite what he was expecting.

His heart raced,

It wasn't right at all!

When did the tables turn on him?

"Ryou, I..." he couldn't finish, nothing came to form sound. Many things came to mind, but nothing was right. 

I'm sorry I'm so afraid, 

Forgive me for needing this, 

Try to understand... 

I love you.

No, time ran out.

He reached out to touch him, but his hand brushed nothing... the boy had skittered away, running for the door... maybe he wasn't real at all. He cried out, running after "Ryou!" he had called and then stood silent. The ring hung about the boy's neck. He could go back into it, get in his mind.

"What's done is done, yami!" The boy cried, pulling the ring from his neck, ruining his plans. "Leave me alone! I wish you'd never existed!" The ring flew across the room, there was the sound of delicate metal as it was thrown against the wall. Then the sound repeated as it hit the floor.

He stood stunned in a moment of pure shock and missed the boy as he bolted out the door, slamming it behind him. "Fine!" He screamed at the door, "Have it your way!" Of all the times for the kid to grow a backbone. He'd have to come home for his belongings anyway, he always came back.

Always.

Sobbing and frightened, he never fought back.

He'd always shown infinite fucking patience.

Oh he'd beat the shit out of that boy when he got home! He deserved it! All he had tried to do was keep the boy from landing in the hospital, well fuck! That worked out well. 

He paced and ranted all day at nothing in particular. At 2:30 he gritted his teeth, the boy had better come after school, he'd promised Malik he'd go to his place and watch that TV show they wanted to see. More things to irritate him.

Then he heard it.

Or more precisely, felt it. Fear, panic, screaming, all through the link. Desperation surged through the one on the other end, seeping into him as well. Ryou was terrified.

//Ryou!// He had called out to him. //Ryou, what's wrong?!//

/Yami.../ came the whimpered reply /Yami, please... where are you.../ there was a sob /please.../

//What's going on?//

He received no reply, only a string of blurred images. They were at school... people rush by in blind panic, his wounded knee forgotten as he ran. He stumbled in the hall with the crowd and someone cried for the youth and got hold of him, pulling him along. /Help! Oh God we're all going to die!/

He wanted to take Ryou over. He could run faster, and farther, but... Damn It!!! He'd thrown the ring on the floor!

He didn't think. He ran out the door for the school. It must have still been raining... but he couldn't recall being wet, or feeling its sting, he didn't feel it. He wondered now if it had stopped sometime before... no it had to have been raining because the sky was dark and churned like it was being stirred by an insane demon all the while laughing ominously... maybe it wasn't real either if he couldn't recall feeling it. 

Only six blocks. Six city blocks, he had to get to Ryou. Oh Ra, Oh Ra! Panic was making him dizzy, it was hard to run, but he got there – along with strings of fire trucks, police cars, ambulances, he ignored them all. The flames had already set the sky ablaze. The heat from it shot out in the already warm air. A thin layer of sweat had formed on his body... another thing to entrap him and the way the very heat of it made his clothes cling to him made him tremble.

He screamed for his light, looking at the school. People were shouting and running from it, some cried out something about tanks and a furnace but he didn't understand. Firemen were shouting orders to get people away and hold them back. He had to get there, get Ryou.

Someone was still dragging him along, shielding him, he could feel it. Then he cried out as he saw the silver haired boy run from the school. Malik had him, pushing him forward, careful to keep the boy in front of him to protect and shield him as well as get him out. For a moment he saw the irony in this, that he was supposed to protect him – yet  in the moment his help was truly needed it was Malik and not him who took on the role of the loving guardian Ryou always looked for but never had. He screamed again for his light again, rushing forward, men tried to hold him back but he was far to agile. The door was still so far away!

A loud crack rang out and there was a collective scream as a sudden shockwave of flames and the mild debris in its path shot out the door. Someone cried that the chemicals had been reached, someone else yelled the tanks were still intact... he didn't understand that at all. At the bang, Malik rough shoved Ryou forward and the boy gave a cry becoming lost in the rushing crowd. "Ryou!!" He yelled again holding his arms out for the youth and the youth looked out, changing direction and running for him.

Another crack. Malik's scream rang out. Another wave of fire and broken glass. He watched in shock as red splattered from the Egyptian's arm. Suddenly he knew why he had pushed Ryou – they were part of the unfortunate group closes to the fire and the last to make it out. Closest to those explosions that had started to send pillars of fire up into the air.

Ryou turned round in shock hearing the scream. //No!!// He had screamed to the boy mentally in desperation, //Run! Don't turn back!!// but the words didn't get a chance to come out. There was another bang that made the very earth shake under his feet and all the windows were blasted from the building on the wave of brilliant orange. Someone cried the tanks had been breached.

Point blank. The boy lurched forward, 

Red flashed in a fine spray from his chest

A perfect small glass bullet...

He felt it...

Ryou's side of the link went dead.

One Turn Kill, a distant voice chided.

"My host's life is the most important..." his own voice had said, not all that long ago.

The boy fell.

He hit the ground with a dull thud.

The world stopped and he stared at the empty eyes that locked on his, glazed and lifeless.

Everything seemed to fade; he barely registered the last bang that nearly brought the building to the ground or the firemen rushing in.

The whole world just went still. The boy just lay crumpled on the ground, eyes staring and staring. It wasn't real, it couldn't be real. Not with so much left undone, unsaid. But the distinct feeling Ryou's spirit no longer fueled him gave him the brutal answer.

Nothingness,

Forever,

Eternal.

Like being locked in the ring again, only he still had his living breath form.

It wasn't true,

No,

Not with everything still undone.

He sank down next to the lifeless form though the wet grass stained his grey shirt.

The world was fading,

Everything was blurred

And then went black.

It couldn't be...

It wasn't real...

# # # # #

He couldn't recall the next few days, save a few fleeting moments that were brief dreams amid his lucid visions. So floating and few they were hard to divide from what should have been fiction. They were something caught in ruined time, making his heart pound and skin crawl, things so burned into him even the visions had to incorporate them.

He counted out the hours starting one hour after they took the broken boy from the ground. He wasn't sure how he did it; it was hard enough recalling what happened to him five minutes before in those days. Hours would pass in that he couldn't account for then... now he couldn't even remember the days or how he knew he had forgotten those hours... he just _knew... But he could recall the dreams._

Only the beautiful, vivid dreams.

The dream world had to be better then this,

It had to be...

The real world had become so torn apart and so surreal! He couldn't even walk by the living room anymore. He could hear the boy's voice screaming at him from the fireplace as he walked by the room. "It's your fault!" the voice seemed to sob wordlessly, "I could have stayed but you made me run! I could be alive!" and as the days went by the voice became more ruthless, more violent – angry, haunting – "Are you happy now? You have the murder you wanted! Weep now will you? I haven't tears enough for what you've done, leaving me here all alone for all this time! You should be here with me!" He would cover his ears and talk back. Sometimes sympathizing with the spirit, sometimes consoling it. He would talk to the boy for hours on end like he really was there. Time was so out of joint.

The ring still lay on the floor where he threw it. At least until the pharaoh picked it up and put it in Ryou's room some days before. He couldn't remember that either but it seemed to be logical and ingrained somehow. He slept in Ryou's bed now, just to feel the comfort of the soft shampoo smell on the pillows. 

It was all out of order.

Superimposed.

He could see the oasis he dreamed about so much so clearly, so vividly and then behind it the ghostly faded image of the lake at the park Ryou had loved so much. After the boy was gone, he'd sat there for hours, dreaming, imagining. Burying the boy in a tomb for the gods to find him. They were the only things that made him feel like himself again; strong and arrogant, the tomb robber of Egypt.

The dreams were so tangible, so real.

Lovely visions,

Horrible nightmares

They stalked him...

Refusal and guilt...

No the boy was still there somewhere, he had to be. Why else would he constantly hear his voice and see such meaningful things that didn't exist?

... But the reality was coming on him.

Ryou wasn't coming back and he wasn't still there.

Malik had been so good about the whole, helping him arrange things for a funeral until his father arrived home the next day, which was the fastest he'd ever seen Ryou's father come home for anything. The Egyptian had been so patient, kindly explaining that in the modern world they were both fairly new to, people didn't have to be intact for eternity. That they needed a few days to retrieve the clear, delicate piece from Ryou's chest for something-or-other before they could bury him. He found it almost funny how such a fragile thing could be so deadly. Then the night came he lay down to dream, falling into the wonderful visions he'd become so fond of and the nightmares came again. He trusted Malik to take care of things, even with his injured arm. He wanted to stay with the dreams. No more of reality's nightmares. Back to the dreams where Ryou was peaceful and happy. He clung to them so devotedly, devotedly enough to make them real and stay with them forever and he laughed as he let the dream cut his wrists and keep him forever in lovely sleep beside his beautiful lover.

Something went wrong,

The real world and the dream world crashed together, 

Like they had in the nightmares that he hated.

The demon that haunted the living room came in and ruined them,

Real numbers,

Real pain,

Now he couldn't tell them apart.

Bakura screamed.

# # # # #

"Hey, hey..." Malik called softly, cradling the white haired youth gently.

"Malik?" Bakura whispered, finally raising his head to look at the Egyptian, "How's you're arm?"

The blonde blinked then smiled a bit, "It's feeling better." He pushed back the collar of his shirt to show the edge of a white bandage. "Still sore. Are you sure you want to stay?"

He watched as Bakura glanced at the corner a moment, and then nodded vaguely before gently tightening his grip on his friends arm. "I'd like to go back to bed." He replied softly. 

Malik offered a sorrowfully concerned look, the innocent, childlike gaze that formed in the brown eyes made him fairly sure that his friend had snapped. "Okay, I'll take you to bed." At least he seemed better then he had been last week.

"Can I..." Bakura trailed off.

"What?"

"Can you give me a minute... to stay with him?"

Malik hesitated, something in his nature warned him this wasn't right, yet something in the lonely and helpless gaze as Bakura tiredly picked at an invisible stain on the carpet allowed him to back off slowly. "Okay, I'll wait for you outside."

*************************************************

*yawns* Weird and creepy eh? Yeah I know, there is an insane amount of images that flash back to the last three chapters which kinda put new meaning on all the symbols in Bakura's dreams. Hopefully a lot of strange things have been cleared up, hopefully more strange things to come. Bakura seems to get OOC, but I didn't want to make it that way, it's supposed to show mental instability... Malik is sorta OOC too, but it's brought on by the idea Bakura has gone completely OOC and Malik is the only one who has some amount of understanding about him so he has to adapt to Bakura. That said, next chapter is the last one, I won't tell you what it's called cause that will ruin the plot ^_^ Please be patient for the last chapter coming up as soon as I find time to type it. *Falls asleep again*


	5. Rejection

Well, the last chapter of Shattered Prince, I don't really plan on saying anything at the end of the chapter so I'll say everything now. *Hugz all her reviewers* You guys are great, especially putting up with my twisted Edger Allan Poe identity crisis, *looks in dismay at all the previous chapters and then this one* though unfortunately it's not over yet. The ending is a real twist and maybe not what any of us, even me, expected so... umm... yeah... I'm not insane, I promise. Anyway. Without any further rambling, I'm sure everyone wants to see how this is going to end.

************************************************

_I find it kind of funny,_

_I find it kind of sad,_

_The dreams in which I'm dying_

_Are the best I've ever had_...__

_                             -"Mad World" Tears For Fears_

************************************************

Rejection

************************************************

He stood over the coffin for a long time, staring at the still body lying next to him. "Why did you ask me to stay here?" He asked coldly, finally sounding something like himself again.

"Because," Answered a soft voice from the corner and he glanced at the silver haired boy in the pale green pajama pants. "I'm still trapped here."

"You're dead." Bakura replied, chewing on his lip. "You don't exist. Why are you here?"

"I'm here because he keeps me here...

Because you keep me here."

"Who keeps you here?" He followed the boy's eyes to the door where the ruined prince stood, glaring. "I _know_ you're not real." Bakura snapped, pointing at the demon.

"Of course I'm real you fool, you make me real." It answered.

Bakura closed his eyes. No, they weren't real. Malik had said so.

 "Bakura?" the sweet one said and he opened his eyes again.  He looked around. No one was there. He rubbed his eyes and dry sobbed, he was out of his mind. He looked at the body in the coffin again "Why do you want me to stay with you?" he sobbed, falling to his knees and taking the boys hand.

The air was heavy again and he choked, his cheeks were wet but now he knew why. Tears of grief and guilt streamed down his face. "What is it you want from me?" he pleaded, but the boy lay silent. "Why won't you leave me alone?" he whispered, pressing the hand to his cheek.

"I can't!" Came a broken sob from the corner, but when Bakura looked, no one was there. He gently kissed the hand he held. 

"You're lonely aren't you? It's because I let you become bound to me." He didn't have to look over his shoulder to know both spirits stood there. He could feel them vivid in his presence. "I promised you..." 

He paused, thinking on the revelation that occurred to him...

This was his dream, the dream his reality. He could only find it in the way things felt. 

Touch them and they were real. 

Feel them and they were real.

But if that was true...

Haunting voices, drifting lights, horrible phantasms- 

The kind nightmares are made on. 

Then they didn't exist. 

But they did exist; he had seen them... so then...

Pain existed, 

That was real, 

Maybe the only thing that was real. 

He could feel pain, he could feel suffering. 

Those things were real.

Then... if this demon and this angel gave him pain...

They were real...

And he had promised them something...

"I promised you, you would always be bound to me." The idea turned quietly, taking its misty shape amid the blurred thoughts of his mind. He turned around, eyes flicking too quickly from one to the other; he nodded pointedly to the innocent one he love so well. "You want me to keep the promise and go with you," he glanced at the demon child, "You want me to keep the promise and stay with you. You're bound to me."

Both of them looked at each other, then nodded.

Bakura whimpered, rubbing his eyes. They hurt so badly. There were strange tingles traveling down his neck to his legs and he started to rub his arms trying to get rid of it. It seemed like spiders were crawling all over him, burrowing into his skin, spinning webs to smother his being. When they bit it made his fingers twitch and the convulsions for some reason made him feel more energetic, he had to chuckle under his breath at each schism. The only thing that kept him from giving into the odd urge to simply fall to his knees and laugh till the world ended was that the webs seemed clasped about his throat. He brushed them off as best he could, but they were working their way under his skin and it seemed impossible.

"I've got to get you out of here." He whispered to the boy, "You can't stay here, their going to put you in the ground."

"No!" The boy cried lunging forward and Bakura gave a cry as the terrified youth clung on to him. "No you can't let! Bakura please! I don't want to be trapped all alone!" Bakura blinked as tears started rolling down the boy's cheeks. "Yami you promised me! You gave me your blood! Your blood – so not even death could part us, so I can still have your living blood in me to keep me here!"

Bakura stared at him in shock, "I didn't dream that?"

"No, silly." The boy smiled up at him through tears, reaching up and touching Bakura's face. "You felt it didn't you? You know it was real."

"I don't know what's real..." he replied, looking down at the floor dully.

"Figure it out later." The boy insisted, "Yami! Don't put me in there all alone! Please! Please, Yami! I know you've never listened to me before but you have to believe I'm still here... Look at me. I'm real aren't I? My spirit is still here..."

Bakura gave a light gasp, slowly pulling away from the boy, his heart raced. 

Ryou was alive.

He'd always been alive.

And that demon...

That demented child in his nightmares that seemed to have for this moment vanished.

That evil, evil demon was trying to tear them apart!

He wouldn't have it!

"I'm still here." Ryou said firmly, gripping Bakura's arm. "Don't just let me be..." Bakura just gave a cry of exasperated confusion.

"Well what else can I do? Ryou, please! Tell me what you want!" Bakura's eyes shifted nervously, the innocent looking boy that clung to his arm worried him. 

If the broken prince came back, what would happen?

No... he couldn't lose Ryou again.

"Ryou, please? Talk to me! I can't leave you like this."

"Think about it Bakura." Hayden replied, smiling in that pure, sweet and sorrowful way only he could. "You made a promise to me. I'm bound to you and will always be. I'm here because you're here. I drank your blood remember?"

Bakura nodded, subconsciously licking his lip. They felt cracked and dry. His skin felt that way too... only not as bad. It prickled like mud baked under too hot a day... he was starting to felt like his skin might to cracking but that odd spider web sensation held it together. And oh Ra! What the hell was that smell? He caught turning up his nose a bit. It was sour, like dried blood or old decaying furniture.

"Yami, are you okay?" The boy said with concern, brown eyes blinking with fear. "Will you answer?"

"Why are you so impatient?!" Bakura snapped. The boy recoiled a bit, but still remained. Why did he even think of Ryou as a boy? After all wasn't he close to 18 by now? Maybe it was because he was smaller in size and build. So tenderly innocent and uncorrupt. Ryou was perfection, in all essence of everything Bakura believed, Ryou was perfect.

"He'll come back." The boy replied softly. Oh yes... Bakura mulled that over, "They'll come to take me away... you can't want that?" More to think about... "Bakura, please! Remember!!"

Bakura shook his head again, trying to clear it. To much to take in and yet... he couldn't remember anything, no names, no places, no past, nothing but Ryou, Ryou and these nightmares, these dreams. "Yes little prince I remember." He glanced at his skin. So that was it.

His blood was in Ryou's veins... Ryou's blood was in his veins...

It had given him a body in the first place...

Still beating inside him –

Oh that was it!

That was how this magic was possible.

No!

It hadn't been a dream!

Ryou had been there all along.

Malik must have been mistaken; maybe he'd missed Ryou that night.

Who knew, who cared!

After this – no one was going to take Ryou away from him and no one was going to strip them of an afterlife.

No one was going to strip them of forever.

Bakura reached out, fingering a lock of the princes platinum hair, "We have to work quickly you know."

"It can be done." Ryou replied softly and swiftly. Bakura nodded.

# # # # #

Bakura slammed the door, cold sweat dripping from his forehead- breath in shallow gasps. Each one choking. His hand shook violently as he quickly locked the door, leaning against it. He compulsively ran a hand through his bangs, trying to untangle them but they only stuck back to his skin. He could hear the commotion downstairs.

No one understood!

... who would...?

They were all idiots.

This was their fault anyway – 

no...

No – it was his fault...

but it was the past that did it!!

How could they know?

All of them were to clueless to see Ryou was still very much alive.

He dragged his armful to the bed... he was heavier then he remembered but still flawless as he laid him down. He gently laid the boy down in the bed, arranging him neatly with the up most care as if he were made of porcelain or glass and would break if he were moved the wrong way. He raised his hands, removing the gold trinket from his neck. Its tear drop points tinkling softly in the quiet. Gently he raised the boy's head... draping it over his neck. He rested the gold medallion on the boy's bare chest. It looked right there, the wadjet eye blinking in the ever fading light. It only looked right with him. Lying charmingly on his chest. That was when the pounding started.

He straightened abruptly and looked up at the door. "Ryou? Now what? Who's there?" The boy trembled, running into his arms, terrified. Bakura blinked, 

didn't he just lay him in bed? 

Oh well...

"What is it?"

"He's coming for us." The boy shuddered "We have to make him go away." Bakura furrowed his eyebrows. No demon was going to harm them and he reached out, picking up the pocket knife from the desk.

"Bakura!" the voice outside the door demanded. "Bakura! Open up!" The demons voice,

Bakura gritted his teeth, growling menacingly. 

No never again was Ryou going to be taken from him!

Other voices were outside the door, arguing, shouting, finally someone yelling at them all to shut-up, that only one person should try to handle the situation and Bakura wondered which of them would be elected to fight the demon. 

He hoped it was Malik.

He knew Malik would believe him.

Though he didn't want anyone else involved in this matter.

Their was a boldly solid knock on the door "Bakura!" the demon demanded again, and this time Bakura drew it a breath, pushing Ryou slowly toward a corner where he would be safe then stepping toward the door, pressing his back to it and slowly putting his hand on the knob. 

He flicked the knife open and the flash of silver caused a light flicker against the wall. He fought to keep his breath under control, clutching the knife tightly till his knuckles were white. "Yes?" he said with flat line calmness to the knocking.

"Open the door, let me in." came the ominous answer and Bakura closed his eyes tightly against the whisper of soundless voices that seemed to flood his ears on the voice.

"Just you? I only want to deal with you myself."

"Just me." The voice hissed.

Bakura gritted his teeth, dragging the tip on the knife blade shallowly against the door, carving out a gouge in the wood, and then repeated the action a few times as his breathed slowly. "Bakura?" The boy said abruptly and Bakura jumped, startled.

"Be patient!" Bakura breathed, gripping the knife, moving to hide it behind his back. "Nothing rash..." He slowly turned the doorknob and it clicked letting him know the door had unlocked. He dared to turn around and open the door a crack, gazing out at the figure looking back at him, blood shot eyes glaring with violent intention. Beyond the broken figure a few more people lingered but he could discern their faces. He took a minute to draw in a breath and closed his eyes to briefly focus his thoughts then glanced back out to the violet eyes that stood in place of the blood-shot ones. A trick of the demon no doubt, to shift to a more inviting form.

He trusted nothing with that demon wandering about.

The demon pushed on the door and Bakura let it yield slowly, enough that the demon could slip inside and Bakura quickly shut the door, pressing his back to it once again to both hide his weapon and keep his distance from the demon who know stood so near him once again. He discreetly locked the door and chewed thoughtfully on his inner lip, he wanted no interruptions if push came to shove.

"What's come over you Bakura?" the demon asked in a low voice. "Have you really gone out of your mind?"

"You won't take him from me," he replied, gritting his teeth like a vicious cat backed into a corner. "Not now, not ever again."

"What do you mean, again?" came the response and the being turned to face him. "You can't fight fate Bakura." The demon said, opening his arms beckoning the former spirit to come to him on the promise of comfort. "Will you sacrifice your mind just to make it all real or come back with me to the world of the living?"

Bakura smiled a bit, "Is that the lesson you tried to teach me in the tomb? That I am alive while you're dead? Is that the lesson? That the only answer to holding on to something dead to be dead yourself? The answer to why Ryou feared me, that he tried to find something living in me when I was dead... if he could find the answer, why can't I?"

"You know the answers, yami." The lovely prince encouraged, "For this moment we are angels, and you have the power to kill death itself no matter what form he's taken on. Kill the part of me that's already dead and come back to me, back where you belong."

"You're not making sense." The demon said, shaking his fair head, "After all this time, I..."

Bakura put a finger to his own lips. "Hush, changed prince." He said gently, "Why? Of all the forms you could have taken to fool me, why did you take this one?"

The demon looked at him, pretending to be confused, though of course it knew its trickery. 

Even Ryou had seen through the demon's masquerade. 

Bakura gathered his will, he couldn't be played with so easily, 

Fooled with such grace, 

Even if the demon he had created was clever enough to make himself look so welcoming. 

Ryou could not be taken from him again.

"What do you mean?" the being asked, continuing to play pretend. Bakura just offered him another passing smile. No sense in betraying his own game to the haunting prince. With a few deft steps he moved forward.

"Be careful, yami!" the boy warned and Bakura drew in a breath, feeling blood rush to his ears. He's skin pricked, heart pounding in his chest send dry blood heavily through all ready eager limbs. He wished the spiders would stop their incessant biting and web spinning but the feeling held him together, he feared he would fall apart if the webbing broke the way it made his skin feel to tight. Every inch of his being it seemed coursed with adrenaline, as if he should have been horribly afraid but he drew into his mind, forming an acute excitement as shifted the blade in his hand for a quick attack. He wanted to draw in a deep breath and laugh with delight because the demon didn't see his delicate movement.

Being the King of Bandits and Thieves had its benefits.

He stepped into the demons arms, laying his head on his shoulder. "Will this do?" Bakura asked, smirking to himself, the demon drew his arms around the spirit in triumph over his innocent counterpart.

"Yes, Bakura. This will..." he stopped. Then he coughed, spraying a thin warm liquid across Bakura's neck and shoulder.

The tomb robber chuckled lightly, feeling warmth start to flow up over his finger tips from the hilt of the knife buried deep in demon's abdomen. He jerked the blade upward the out, throwing it harshly to the floor. "Never again." He hissed, glaring into the demon's eyes, wide with blankly fixed terror. Blindly the demon stumbled back, falling clumsily into the desk and knocking over the chair.

Like a cat on its prey Bakura fell on him with a rush of glorious triumph, holding him down easily with some new found power from the racing of his heart, digging his finger tightly around his neck and slamming his palms downward. His victim struggled and kicked in vain against the body pinning him down, clawing at the hands about his throat desperately, trying to cry out only force only sputters of ruby red liquid and a soft choking noise, but Bakura would not let go. The white haired boy gritted his teeth in anger. "You think you can take him away from me you're fucking wrong! No one is going to take him from me! No one!"

The demon dug his fingernails deep into Bakura's wrists and he winced as the pain shot up his arms, making his hands unwillingly start to shake allowing the one he held to finally force a small dispirit cry of pain that was barely more then a whisper. Bakura growled, jerking away his right hand, ignoring how his skin tore from being embedded with the demon's nails, it was another rush of exhilarating pain to drive him. "Shut-up!" he hissed, backhanding the being beneath him across the jaw, causing a harsh crack as the bone gave way. Bakura slammed his hand back down on the creatures throat but this time the sound was little more then a struggled gasp. "I can't have you making all that noise, you were being so good till then. I can't have them breaking down my door. Do you now how many people are out there? Malik would fucking murder me if he sees the mess I'm going to make of you." 

The creature looked up at him, terror lacing through his violet eyes, tears from a torrent of emotions Bakura couldn't care less about streaming over his face. "'kura..." he managed to gasp, "ba-kur...a..." Bakura thrust all his weight onto his palms. 

"I told you to shut-up!" he snapped viciously as he felt the small bone of the throat give way and collapse. A stream of blood gargled up over the demons lips and he lay still, choking vainly for breath. 

Bakura snatched up the knife from the floor, embedding into the being's chest, aimed for his heart. The fluid gushed in rivulets up over the stained knife and the demon jolted with the force, but Bakura simply wrenched the knife out, before stabbing it back into the flesh in a thrilled fury. Over and over again. Up and down. The blood splattering everywhere in rushing streams like rain from an unyielding storm and then dying gurgle of what should have been a scream. Still it flowed. Warm, vibrant liquid moving with ease, spraying all over the walls and desk, staining the carpet.

"Bakura," a gentle voice said meekly, "It's over."

He took a few deep breaths, cooling his burning throat as the fury ebbed away. He pulled out the knife one last time, the blood dripping dumbly on his already covered shirt and arms, and tossed it aside, suddenly feeling like it was something to heavy to carry. He slowly drew away from the broken and bloody figure on the floor, turning to the boy who stood by his side. "It's not done yet." He youth said gently, "Pick up your knife." Bakura leaned his back against the bed, reaching out and managing to get hold of the pocketknife slick with crimson though it seemed to weight an ungodly amount for a knife before standing.

"Lie with me, Bakura." He beckoned softly; reaching up toward the blood covered being who willingly sank to the bed in a content faint. He pulled the boy close to him, slipping one arm under him and the other about his waist and sighed as he rested his tender head on Bakura's shoulder. The darker kissed the youth's forehead, not finding the fact he was covering the boy is stains. "Ryou," he whispered gently, "Nothing will take you from me."

"Never again," the boy promised, nuzzling against him, causing the few blood drops of his sweet face to smudge. "Not as long as you finish this."

Bakura drew a breath and nodded, carefully looking over his hikari's shoulder to his wounded wrist, once more turning the blade in his hand and drawing it over his skin in a jagged crossing pattern, awaking the old wounds and tearing deeper ones. He gasped at the stiffness of his arms, how he couldn't feel the pain they were so numb, how they seemed hard to move. It seemed as if he were cutting through the very cobwebs that wrapped his flesh so tightly and in blessed relief plunged the blade in deeper, cutting himself free of the binding webs in waves of ruby red. Franticly he slashed at the webs, digging the blade deep into them to cut out the spiders crawling under his skin until he was sure their was nothing left to cut and his arms were numb and soaking wet with the pieces the webs had been holding together so long. 

His hands were hard to move, they didn't seem to want to hold the knife like he needed them too, but he still managed to untangle himself from Ryou and bring the blade to his throat. He turned his eyes to the blood stained prince lying against his side. "My living blood. Just like last night." He whispered, planting a kiss on the boy's lips, he found the skin surprisingly cool but pushed it from his mind on seeing the boy smile. "Just like I promised you. I'll always be with you." He pressed the blade deep into the skin of his neck till he felt his own warm blood come up against his broken skin, then slashed, feeling the warm metal cut through him, spilling his blood. 

# # # # #

For a moment there was silence.

Then weakly he opened his eyes.

He let his head roll to the side to look at the figure lying heavily against him. The boy lay dumbly, stained with the bloody that had smeared off Bakura's closes and his self-inflicted wounds. "Ryou?" he said softly, the blood in his throat making it sound slightly garbled. The boy never moved. He forced his numb arm to move, shaking the boy as best he could but the body simply lay still like a child's porcelain doll. Confusion swept him and felt dizzy, rolling over against the unsteadying feeling till somehow he fond his feet on the floor.

He leaned against the wall and felt a warm wave rush from his neck down his shirt but couldn't quiet recall. His arms leaked heavy drops of thick crimson as he pulled himself up and along the edge of the bed, delirious and on the verge of fainting. Vaguely he registered the ruined state of the room, the whole place may as well have been painted a terrifying dark red and if fell from him in rivulets collecting in small pools wherever his arms held themselves for any amount of time or where it drip from his neck.

Overwhelmed he fell from pulling himself along the bed, pulling half the blankets he had his fingers around with him. He tumbled to the floor against something stiff by yielding in a pool of liquid that was growing cold. He tried to shake his head but that only caused another wave of warmth to wash over his throat and run down into the ever growing pool of blood. His vision started to fade bit by bit along with all his senses and in the ever deepening blackness of his mind he found the thought, "So this is what it is to die." 

He raised his head to look at the ragged body he now lay beside, it's blond hair matted with red, violet eye glazed like glass turned up toward the ceiling as if looking to find heaven. Bakura reached out, gently touching the tanned skin and struggled to stretch his hand far enough to tug on the being's shirt. The collar about his malformed neck slid, showing a white bandage bound about the bodies shoulder.

Bakura laughed under his breath, then a choked sobbed came from his torn throat and he coughed, spitting up the red foam before clasping down into the sadistic bed he had made for himself, laughing wildly at his own madness and at the same time dropping warm tears to mourn the losses no one else would ever see the irony of. "Don't worry, my friend," he whispered, "Now we can always sleep and never feel pain and everyone we ever wanted will be with us. And we'll get to dream... not those day dreams. Those dreams I wanted so bad, those dreams were this is all real... we'll get to belong... everything will be fine."

Vaguely in the background he heard something start to pound incessantly but it faded into the back of his mind – only to awaken again when voices were added to it. He smirked hearing the pharaoh demand to be let in. Bakura laughed a bit, he had won against them all. 

What a mess they would have to clean up! 

What a sight to see! 

This glorious tomb where innocence, sanity and love were all waiting in pools of precious ruby's to be buried! 

Toward the door he could see the vague ghostly image of his beloved Ryou, long gone and cold, fading from sight. He lay his neck down on the outstretched arm of his companion, letting the back of his head rest on the floor, making sure the cut would remain awake. 

Something's were best left to those who society called abnormal...

Best left as forgotten ghost's to wander in and out of reality, the names society would ignore in favor of something more substantial than life and creation.

Left to those who would never be able to explain it, so it could be forgotten by the world.

Something's were best left to the dead... 

He closed his eyes and drew in a breath, letting himself fall into darkness, opening his arms to the peace that flooded him to the promise that somewhere beyond this, Ryou still stood waiting for him....

There was no royal tomb of Egypt...

No choir of heavenly angels...

They lived now only in the fleeting visions of something that was real. 

Even as the tombs door gave way and the horrified cry of shock and aguish ran across the oasis of icy red tears there was still something surreal in the voice that seemed to say even this reality was born of a madness and could never be put back together again. 

It would be left splintered and torn beside the still body of a shattered prince.

*******************************


End file.
